A Change of Legacies
by SophieTurner1805
Summary: Elizabeth and Georgiana face opposite sides of the same "what if?" as Elizabeth prepares for the birth of her first child, and Georgiana begins married life. Meanwhile, Mary Bennet finds herself for the first time romantically interested in a man, but will her own character and his family get in her way? A story of love and family; the sequel to "A Constant Love."
1. Part 1, Chapter 1

**A Change of Legacies**

I am finally far enough along to begin posting this! I have completed the first draft of this monster, and it is threatening 200k words by the time I add in a few additional scenes. So if anyone is wondering why it took me longer than expected, that's why. :-) Perhaps even more than the original, this is truly an ensemble story; although Elizabeth and Georgiana remain the primary POVs. I like continuing P&P, but I also like developing my own characters as well as JA's. So if you are looking for a 100% Lizzy/Darcy focused story, this is not going to be it, but I can promise they have plenty of meaty storylines within. I'll be getting the first two chapters out quickly, and then will likely be publishing a chapter a week, at least until I'm farther along with edits and then may be able to pick up the pace.

**Summary: **Elizabeth and Georgiana face opposite sides of the same "what if?" as Elizabeth prepares for the birth of her first child, and Georgiana begins married life. Meanwhile, Mary Bennet finds herself for the first time romantically interested in a man, but will her own character and his family get in her way? A story of love and family; the sequel to "A Constant Love."

**Previously: **As we ended "A Constant Love," Georgiana's wedding to Captain Sir Matthew Stanton was days away; Jane Bingley was soon to give birth, Elizabeth Darcy was also expecting a child, and had just successfully hosted Pemberley's first ball in many years. Mary Bennet had quite surprisingly danced two sets with Captain Stanton's clergyman brother, and Catherine Bennet was awaiting the return of her fiancé, Captain Andrew Ramsey, from sea, following Napoleon's Hundred Day war. After a desperate search by his parents, Lord and Lady Brandon, following the Battle of Waterloo, Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam had been found, although his arm had been amputated. Lydia Wickham's husband remained missing following the battle, but Lydia had chosen to go into mourning, certain he was dead. As ACL was shifted forward a year from canon, when we begin this story it is late summer, in 1815.

**Warnings:** I really really recommend you skip these if you do not want to be spoiled, but do understand that some want to be aware more precisely of what you're getting into, and if so, please do check out the spoiler tagged content. I promise that the HEA is true for all of the major characters, both canon and original, but I do not pull any punches in dream state. Things are perhaps a twinge more in the mature direction than ACL, but fade to black is still very much the MO here.

* * *

* SPOILERS *

"**Real" world: **Minor character death, minor violence, miscarriage (not Elizabeth's), stillbirth (not Elizabeth's), reference to a gruesome surgical operation.

"**Dream" world:** Major character death, uncomfortable sexual situation (stops well short of rape), forced confinement, gruesome surgical operation.

* END SPOILERS *

* * *

**Sources:** In addition to the books and internet resources used for the original, I've also gathered very helpful research from: "Behind Jane Austen's Door," by Jenifer Forest, "Georgian & Regency Houses Explained," by Trevor Yorke, "What Jane Austen Ate and Charles Dickens Knew," by Daniel Pool, "Jane Austen and Food," by Maggie Lane, and "Admiral Sir P. V. B. Broke...: A Memoir," by John George Brighton and Sir Philip Bowes Vere Broke.

**Departures from "A Constant Love":** Despite the research I did, amongst the greatest errors in the original story were a number of remnant Americanized spellings, and some errors in address. I have endeavored to get the spellings right (although I will use American spelling in my own notes), and would appreciate hearing from you, dear readers, if I did still make a mistake. In instances where Jane Austen herself used alternate spellings (e.g. connection vs. connexion), I have sometimes mixed in her usage. Most of the errors in address have been compensated for, excepting Richard Stanton, who is the son of an earl and had been referred to as Lord Richard in "A Constant Love" and is, as he should be, The Honourable Richard Stanton, or Mr. Stanton in direct address, in this story.

* * *

**A Change of Legacies**

**PART ONE**

**Chapter 1**

"My dearest, I love you too much to wait another day," he said, caressing her cheek. "Let us leave for Gretna Green tonight."

"I cannot – I do not – I do not think I am ready to leave so soon. This is all so sudden. I wish to be married to you as well, but I do not think I am ready for such a step."

"I own it may seem sudden for you, but I have been in love with you for so long. So very long, my dearest." His thumb brushed against her lips, and Georgiana could hardly bear the sensation, so wonderful and yet so overwhelming it was to her. "I cannot wait; I cannot brook any sort of delay. There is nothing I wish more than to be married to you."

"I would like to at least speak with Fitzwilliam, first – "

"Oh, my precious Georgiana, I understand, but it may be some time before he visits. Come with me tonight."

"I think it might be better to at least wait until Monday, as we had planned originally."

"It pains me that you think so, my darling," he said. "Speak to Mrs. Younge; I am sure she will agree."

"But – my brother – "

"I am sure your brother will be exceedingly happy to find we have wed. After all, he and I are nearly brothers ourselves, so close were we as children. And think of how much easier it shall be on him, to not have to support your coming out into society. All those London seasons – they cannot be something a single gentleman with an estate to run wishes to devote his energy to."

"Fitzwilliam says I am too young to have a season for several years more."

"Of course, he would be too kind to tell you that supporting you through a season will be a great burden to him, and it might be that you go several seasons before you find a match, when he is entering a time of life where an established gentleman should be considering his own marriage. Think of how much easier it will be on him when we return from Scotland, and you are a married woman."

"Do you think I am a burden to him?"

"My love, of course you are, but I promise you shall never be a burden to me."

"Let us go tonight, then," she said, feeling a strange wave of dizziness at having made the decision. But he loved her so, and he was right – she would only be a burden to her brother so long as she was unmarried. Fitzwilliam had not sought her guardianship, but it could hardly be avoided after the death of their beloved father. She might marry the man she loved, and relieve her brother of such a burden, all as soon as they could reach Gretna Green.

"I knew you would see things as I do," he said, taking up her hands and kissing them. "Go to Mrs. Younge – she will help you see your things packed. I will go and hire a coach."

"But we already have a carriage here in Ramsgate – may we not just take that?"

"Mrs. Younge will need to return to London – after all, once you are a married woman you will not have need of a companion. Your brother's carriage may set her down there at his house so that she may pack up her things. After all, it should be returned to your brother's home – when we are married, we shall set up our own carriage."

"Oh, may we get a landau? I have always loved our landau at Pemberley."

"We may purchase whatever sort of carriage you choose, but I adore the idea of riding through the country in a landau, so that all England may see my beautiful bride. Now let me go and see about a coach, and you pack your things. I will return later for you, my love, and then you may make me the happiest of men."

Mr. Wickham smiled deeply at her, and Georgiana skipped off, calling out for Mrs. Younge to help her. There was so much to do!

* * *

Georgiana had not understood how long it would take them to reach Gretna Green, when she had committed to going, and she began to wonder if they should not have stayed in Ramsgate, where she might have written to her brother of the happy news, and then they could have been married in London. She knew it took longer, to put on a wedding in London, but still, this had been a most gruelling drive.

Even with her dear Mr. Wickham taking a shift on the ribbons, so that the coach might continue through the night, and a change of horses at every inn, they had still been driving for three days. Even she, who had been required to do nothing but sit and sleep in the carriage, felt exhausted, and she felt terrible when poor Mr. Wickham came into the coach, after handing the ribbons off to the driver. He always looked terribly spent, but when she suggested they stop for the night, he would always tell her that he would rather marry his darling Georgiana sooner – it was certainly something worth being a little tired for.

When he said it, it always gave her a little heady rush of happiness. George Wickham, who had always been so kind to her as a girl – secretly in love with her all these years! She could never have thought it, and yet she had felt such pleasing emotions when he admitted it to her.

When they were in the carriage together, sometimes they would speak of how things would be when they were married. She would bring fortune enough to the match that they could set up quite nicely somewhere, and he wished for her to have horses, and a fine new pianoforte, and every nice thing that could be provided, for he intended to see her happy always. When he came in from his shift, though, he slept, and when she could not fall back asleep herself, Georgiana wished she had brought a book with her in the coach. It was not the sort of thing one thought to carry when eloping, but although she had a few packed away in her trunk, for the journey she must resort to looking out the coach's window at the spectacularly wild scenery of the north, glad at least this was new and delightful.

* * *

When they finally entered Gretna Green, it was late afternoon. Mr. Wickham eschewed the blacksmith – it was not nearly good enough for his Georgiana – and so they found an inn where the innkeeper promised the marriage might be done, and then a room provided for as long as they needed to rest after their journey.

This sounded well to the both of them, and Wickham ordered their trunks unloaded. The ceremony itself shocked Georgiana in its brevity. Two of the inn's servants were gathered in the common room with them, and the innkeeper looked to Mr. Wickham, and said:

"Do ye, sir, declare yerself inna desire ta be married to thee lass?"

"I do."

"And do ye, lass, declare yerself inna desire ta be married to this man?"

Georgiana hesitated. This all seemed so wrong, to be here without her brother, to be so much farther from home than she had ever been before. But Mr. Wickham looked at her pleadingly, and she finally whispered: "I do."

"Then by the laws of Scotland, I pronounce ye man and wife," the innkeeper said. "Ye may kiss the bride."

Mr. Wickham – Georgiana realised she must call him George, now, for they were married! – had always teased her with the idea of kissing, always caressing her face or touching her lips with his fingers, but had never actually followed through. He did so now, and it was a wet, slovenly experience that left her thoroughly disgusted. Why she had been warned against doing such a thing before she was married she did not know; she did not understand why anyone would want to do so after.

"Ye must needs sign this paper, as a way of documentin' the marriage 'tis done," the innkeeper said. "Then Brenda may show ye to yer room."

They were surely far from the only couple who had driven on through the night from points south to reach this inn; they found a tray of cold meat and bread on the table in the little room they had been provided. George ate hungrily, with no time for the sorts of endearments he was always giving her, and she realised just how wearying the travelling must have been for him.

When he was finished, he looked up at her with a strange smile, and said, "So are you ready for your wedding night, my Georgiana?"

"Yes?" she said, although she was not entirely sure what he meant by it.

"I shall go downstairs for another drink, then, and you may change into your nightclothes."

She did as he instructed, struggling to free herself from the dress she had been wearing since they left Ramsgate, and untie her own stays. She missed the help of Miss Hughes, who had been nominally acting as her lady's maid for years, even though Georgiana was not a married lady. She recognised, strangely, that now that she was actually married, Hughes was not here, for George had said her presence would merely slow them down.

She was wearing her nightgown and sitting on the edge of the bed when he returned, smelling strongly of drink. He closed and locked the door behind him, and smiled that strange smile again at her, taking the few steps in the little room that were required to get to the bed, and kneeling in front of her. Then he gave her another of those slovenly kisses, and pushed her back on the bed, so that his full weight was on top of her.

It was only now that Georgiana felt herself to be suffocating, under the weight of him, under the strange firmness between her thighs, and his hands slipping into places below her nightgown that left her feeling highly uncomfortable, and then, rather quickly, afraid. She wanted Mrs. Younge – nay, she wanted her brother – she wanted her father – if her mother was more than a distant memory, certainly, she would have wanted her mother – she wanted to be anywhere but in this place. She whimpered, then cried out in fear, and pushed against his shoulder, feeling the tears streaming down her face.

_What are you doing, George? What are you doing to me? Stop. I don't like this. Please, stop._ She might have said it aloud; she might only have thought it, but suddenly, mercifully, the weight was gone.

"You know, I would be well within my rights as a husband, _dear_ Georgiana," George said, rearranging his breeches. "You're quite lucky I only go for willing girls. The damage is done, so far as your brother is concerned, whether or not the marriage is consummated. Indeed, now that I think on it, this might be quite useful as leverage. Although I shall have to find a more pleasant bedfellow, for the evening."

"I do not understand. George, what are you talking of?"

"Oh you poor, innocent child. Do you not understand what this is all about? No, if you had, you would not be here, and I would not be awaiting my thirty thousand pounds. I suppose if your good father had survived, he would have warned you against those who would use you for your inheritance. Your worthless brother, on the other hand, clearly has not."

Georgiana was young, she was not well-versed in the ways of the world, but enough of what he said began to sink in for her, and with an encroaching feeling of the most horrible dread, she began to understand why he spoke of her inheritance. She continued crying, the frightened tears of a young girl far from home and with no hope of any comfort, and when she looked up at George – nay, Mr. Wickham, for there was no reason to address him so familiarly – she did not find anything to reassure herself.

"Thirty thousand pounds! There is no way he will get out of it now," Mr. Wickham said, triumphantly. "He will hand over the money, and then our business together shall be done, Georgiana. I only hope for your sake it shall happen quickly. For now, though, we must see you secured for the night."

He produced a long strip of fabric – perhaps such as a gentleman used for his cravat, although she could no longer think of _him_ as a gentleman – and she eyed it with suspicion and fear, finding she was correct in both concerns when he pulled her jaw open and yanked the fabric back against both corners of her mouth, tying it behind her head. She was unable to speak, now, unable to make any noise of substance, and she might have been frightened, if she had not just recently passed a far more frightening moment.

Georgiana felt him pulling her arms behind her back, trying her wrists and then her ankles together. When she was left, thus trussed, lying on the bed, as George Wickham went out in search of his more pleasant bedfellow; when she was left, breathing heavily in her fear, and unable to do anything to alleviate it, Georgiana began to consider how rapidly things had gone wrong.

This was not right, this could not be! George had _loved_ her! He would not leave her in this way; he would not tie her up like a chicken to be cooked for dinner! He would not use her for her fortune! And yet he had. There was no denying that he had. She tried to scream against the fabric tied close against her mouth, but the sound she made was barely a whimper, and she knew a fear far beyond that which she had ever considered possible.

* * *

Georgiana woke painfully, it seemed, up through the deep, deep layers of sleep, fleeing the dream. Her heart was pounding, her breathing panicked, and she took some time to reorient herself, to ensure that it had not been real.

It had not. There was the presence of her husband – her _real_ husband, the one she truly loved and had married little more than a month ago – in the bed beside her. His arm, with the horrid pink scar that had shocked her so when she first saw it, was draped over her stomach, and they were both in a state of undress that would have completely appalled her to even think about before her wedding. It might even have continued to do so, had they remained in England, but they were in Paris, a city that even now, in defeat, had its own standards and morals, and although Georgiana had thought before they came here that none of her own standards should be undermined, she liked the warm, firm nakedness of the man who shared her bed, although the thought of this still made her blush.

She slipped out from his embrace, and pulled on a dressing gown, making her way to the window and looking out across the rooftops that comprised the view from their room, in the low haze of the city's remaining light at the present hour. It still seemed strange to her to be here, in the country England had been at war with for most of her life, with peace not yet formally declared. Yet it would be, that much was clear even to someone so loosely connected with the negotiations as she.

Georgiana opened the window, and was reminded that the air was no less foul than that of London, although it still calmed her. She knew full well what had prompted the dream. There they had been yesterday, walking along, enjoying this unexpected honeymoon, discussing their engagement for the opera that evening, when she had been certain she had glimpsed George Wickham. It was an impossibility, of course – Mr. Wickham had gone missing after the battle in Waterloo, and was most likely dead. Yet whomever this gentleman was who bore such a resemblance to him, he had been enough to prompt a most horrible dream.

The church bell down the street rang, a fine, pure tone through the window, and Georgiana watched as her husband stirred slightly, ran his hand languidly across the space in the bed where she should have been, and then woke, immediately, looking troubled at her absence. She felt a surge of fondness for him, before he spotted her by the window, and said, "Whatever are you doing over there, Georgiana? Will you not come back to bed?"

"Nothing, just thinking on a bad dream," she said, making her way back to the bed, and slipping out of her dressing gown.

"Do you wish to talk about it?" he asked, looking at her with some concern.

"No, it was one of those absurd dreams that would never truly happen," she said. "I was only a little disturbed when I woke."

It could have happened, but it would not, now. She had been the innocent girl of her dreams, back then, but she was older, and, more significantly, a married woman, now; she understood fully what Wickham had been about in her dream, and was most thankful to be married to a man who had gone about things much more delicately their first night together, and most nights thereafter, a man who loved her most earnestly, and whose love she fully returned. She blushed again, to think of their activities in this bed, and those before it, and relaxed back into his embrace, pulling his arm very tight against her chest.

It could have happened, though. If George Wickham had convinced her to elope before her brother arrived in Ramsgate, her fate might very well have been that of her dream. She shuddered at the thought of it, she could not help herself, and once again was asked if she wished to speak about her dream.

"No, I don't think so," she whispered, turning around to face him. "Will you help me forget about it?"

Georgiana had always been shy, and she suspected the rest of her acquaintance would still describe her as such. Over the brief course of her marriage, however, she had gained enough confidence to be able to say such a thing to her husband. How her mind had even conjured those sloppy, terrible kisses of her dream she did not understand, for every one she had ever experienced had been so very pleasing, like the one she gave him now and found returned most tenderly.

Her request was met with the degree of surprise and enthusiasm a gentleman who loves his wife must feel, upon being invited to an unexpected round of marital relations in the midst of the night. And Georgiana did finally find herself able to push thoughts of George Wickham from her mind, in the comfort of Matthew Stanton's attentions.


	2. Part 1, Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Elizabeth Darcy had desired a large summer house party, and she had brought it about, along with a ball, and a wedding, and as much as she had gained enjoyment from having all of these things, she now experienced equal enjoyment that these events were complete. The last of the guests – her own family, the Bennets – had departed two days ago for Longbourn, and now she could stroll Pemberley's gardens in the knowledge that her demands as hostess were significantly lessened.

Of course, there were still Pemberley's more permanent guests – Jane and Charles Bingley, and now their daughter, little Elizabeth Bingley, who, for a child with such amiable parents, did a remarkable amount of screaming. Such crying must have been loudest for the child's nurse, in Pemberley's freshly scrubbed and painted nursery, but could be heard through much of the house. Elizabeth found herself taking refuge in the garden frequently, and hoping that her own child would be more quiet. Not that this would be entirely helpful, as the Bingleys would be staying at Pemberley for some time, while they built a new house at nearby Clareborne Manor, and so long as little Elizabeth remained, the house was likely to be much less peaceful than usual.

Elizabeth smiled; she could not help but think tenderly of her own namesake, although she thought her husband, who looked rather disturbed by the sounds emanating from the nursery, was not quite so sentimental. They both suspected it of having driven the newly married Stantons from Pemberley sooner than expected, although it could not be denied that the opportunity to spend a honeymoon in Paris, and with more privacy than could be had, even in a house so large as Pemberley, held independent appeal.

Jane's birth, at least, had been as quick and painless as such a thing could be; Dr. Alderman had hardly arrived before it was time, and Elizabeth hoped this bade well for her own birth, as Jane's sister. Jane had been certain through her entire pregnancy that she was carrying a girl, and seemed quite content upon learning she was correct. Mrs. Bennet had been unexpectedly helpful and calm, in the time leading up to the birth, although this perhaps should not have been so unexpected, she having borne five daughters of her own. Upon learning the sex of the child, however, she had reverted to her usual self, pronouncing: "Well, I suppose we should not take it as a surprise. I only hope you do not have four more."

Charles, thankfully, upon being admitted to see his wife and daughter, had seemed ready to faint regardless of the sex, but had held himself upright as a look of happiness several times that of his usual happy countenance overtook him, and said she was an angel, and he had no doubt she should grow up to be as pretty as her mother. She might still grow up to be as pretty as her mother, but no one could call the child an angel at her present age, and the Darcys continued to receive profuse apologies from the Bingleys as to the disruption of their peace. They assured the couple they were still welcome; Elizabeth made frequent use of the gardens and the most distant sitting rooms of the house, and Darcy occupied himself with riding the estate grounds, or shooting, which the other gentleman of the neighbourhood were always quite enthusiastic about joining him in, often including Charles, although the latter generally went out with a guilty expression on his face.

"And how do you find the gardens today, Mrs. Darcy?" asked her husband, entering on one of the paths that led from the kennels, and still dressed in his sporting clothes.

"I find them very peaceful," she said, winking at him.

"At least no one need accuse that child of not having a healthy pair of lungs," he said, drily, settling in to walk beside her.

"Jane already wishes her to learn the pianoforte. Perhaps she shall have to engage a singing master, as well. We may well have the next opera diva here, under our roof."

"Indeed. Should we be quite certain there is nothing wrong with the child?"

Elizabeth took up his arm. "Dr. Alderman says she is perfectly healthy, and my mother claims we all were rather vocal, in our infancy."

"So you mean to tell me we will soon have two babies, making such noise?"

"You will feel differently, when it is our own child. Surely you must remember when Georgiana was born – did she not cry?"

"You are likely right, about it being our own child. But I do not remember Georgiana being loud, like this. I expect she was shy, even as a baby."

Elizabeth could not help but notice he sounded a little wistful, at the mention of his sister, to whom he had been more like a father to, than a brother, for so many years. Darcy had quite happily embraced Matthew as a brother – Elizabeth still struggled to call him that, for they had known him as Captain Stanton before, and he should by rights have at least been Sir Matthew, having earned a baronetcy, but he insisted on plain Matthew, for those that were now his family.

Yet Elizabeth could not forget the shocked expression on Darcy's face, when the Stantons had spoken of their invitation to Paris over dinner, and said they would be going. By Darcy's countenance, it had been clear he still expected to be asked permission, and he had realised quite suddenly that permission was no longer his to give.

"Georgiana and Matthew have arrived safely, and I expect we will have another letter from her soon," Elizabeth said, soothingly.

"I know," he said. "I just cannot help but think of all the other times, when we thought there was peace with France, and war broke out, and there were many of our countrymen trapped there."

"They are there with the official delegation, Darcy. You know that there are ships waiting to carry them off if such a thing happens. Failing those, I expect he would steal a boat and sail it across the channel himself, if that were required to get Georgiana to safety."

Darcy did not respond, but Elizabeth knew that he was aware she was right; in consenting to her marriage, Darcy could not have given Georgiana over to anyone more concerned for her wellbeing, nor so capable for seeing to it. And she could not help but smile; she was quite certain by his behaviour toward his sister, for whom he had been a guardian, that he would be a wonderful father.

They walked on for some time, enjoying the very many pleasures that a well-tended garden in early September could bring, before Elizabeth found herself overcome by the strangest sensation.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, halting and clutching her belly.

"Is something the matter, with the baby?" Darcy asked her, immediately concerned.

"No, it is very strange, like a little tickling inside," Elizabeth said, overcome by a feeling of the deepest happiness. "I believe it is the baby quickening."

Her pronouncement caused some confusion of actions by her husband; he made as though he was going to embrace her, seemed to think better of it, and finally gave her a very deep kiss, through which she could sense that he was every bit as happy about the event as she. Elizabeth had seen an accoucher in town, and he had warned her that the quickening might come later, in her pregnancy, this being her first child. This warning had soothed her, as had the continued thickening of her belly, but it was still a relief to have it happen; nay, something beyond relief, she realised, for there was a certain wonderment in this feeling of life, stirring inside her.

"I do not think the baby will mind, if you embrace me," Elizabeth said, for she could not resist teasing her husband.

"I did not want to make it stop. Has it stopped?"

"No, not yet. I wish I knew better how to describe it to you."

"I would imagine it to be rather indescribable," he said. "Still, I am glad I was here when you experienced it. The look on your face as you realised it was quite beautiful."

"I cannot say the look on yours was so. Will you ever cease worrying?"

"I believe I will, when the child comes of age."

Elizabeth chuckled and took up his arm again, and as they walked on, she thought that they could not possibly be happier than they were now, but then realised that they very likely would be, in just a few months.


	3. Part 1, Chapter 3

I should note before this chapter that all French in this story is via Google Translate, as I am not fluent at all. Would welcome feedback from any French speakers!

**Chapter 3**

Like many young women, Lady Georgiana Stanton had married her husband after a very short acquaintance. Thankfully, she had married for love, to a man whose fortune and family had been quite compatible to her own, but she was still learning that he was not quite so perfect as she had thought, before their wedding.

She had, of course, known that he was a naval captain, who had been at sea for five years on the HMS Caroline, then returned to England only long enough to fall in love with her, and go back to sea during Napoleon's Hundred Day War. Georgiana preferred not to think of the grave wounds that had sent him home, although her title was a constant reminder of the baronetcy he had earned in a nearly impossible victory, capturing a seventy-four gun ship with the fifty-gun HMS Jupiter.

What she had only realised after they were married was that he had generally only encountered women in drawing rooms, and even then only infrequently for most of his life, that he was used to much rougher conditions than she, and that he had been at sea for most of the time after he had earned his fortune. He had spent the beginning of their marriage perpetually shocked at how long it took a lady to prepare in the morning, and only of late had they settled on a solution, that he should go down to the lobby of their hotel and read the latest English papers until she was ready, rather than pacing around the apartment, making both her and Miss Hughes nervous.

His absent-minded frugality they had still not solved, for Georgiana had not yet raised it as something that required solving; here, she thought more subtle measures might be required. Matthew had a high regard for cleanliness, but it seemed he would otherwise willingly sleep anywhere with enough walls for a hammock to be slung. Fortunately, he was observant enough to note the expression of concern on her countenance, upon seeing the apartment at their first hotel in Paris, for although it was indeed clean, it was very small and shabby, and not remotely what she was accustomed to. He had been most agreeable when she asked if they could perhaps try somewhere else, and they had taken on a much finer and larger apartment in this hotel, which was still less than they could afford, but sufficient for them to present themselves respectably when people from the delegation called on them.

It was not as though he was not generous, either; he had been exceedingly so with her pin money, when drawing up the marriage articles with her brother, and more often than not he had paid for her purchases here anyway. No, it seemed to Georgiana that he simply did not consider how one could live on land, with nearly five thousand pounds a year. It would be her part to continue to recall him to it; for some time, she had been giving little hints of their setting up a carriage once back in England, as yet to no avail, and so perhaps she would have to be more direct about it.

Still, she loved him very much, and could not deny that she was quite happy in her marriage; after all, it was not as though she had married a man of little fortune, merely one she needed to remind to spend a little more of it.

Hughes finished her hair, and asked: "More shopping, today, my lady?"

"Yes, I expect so. Have I reached the point where I shall need another trunk, to bring it all home?"

"You are coming very close, if you don't mind my saying so, ma'am." Hughes said so with a smile, for she knew a great many of Georgiana's purchases were gifts, and those dresses Georgiana had ordered for herself, Hughes thought to be well-deserved, for the young lady had foregone most of her wedding trousseau, having been married so soon after coming out into society that she could hardly justify a whole new set of dresses.

"I shall ask the hotel if they may arrange it, then. I hardly know where to purchase such a thing," Georgiana said. If they were in London, she would have expected Hughes to see to it, but the poor maid had spoken nary a word of French when they arrived, and had learned only a few thus far.

Georgiana made her way down the stairs to find her husband sitting not with a newspaper, but rather a small piece of paper in his hand.

"What is that you have there?" asked she.

"It is Marguerite Durand's address. They have located her, finally."

"Oh – do you wish to call on her this morning?"

Georgiana was not looking forward to calling on Marguerite Durand, and she expected her husband was not, either, although she found it honourable that he wished to. Charles Durand had been the captain of the Polonais, the French ship Matthew had captured, and Captain Durand had not survived the engagement. Matthew had brought the captain's personal effects with them, in the hopes of finding his widow and returning them to her, but her current address had proved elusive.

"Would you mind terribly? I know we have the dinner this evening, and I hate to make you spend an entire day where much of our time is not our own."

"I do not mind at all. I would not wish to make her wait a day longer than is necessary, and I know we would not be here, were it not for the dinners."

Their invitation to be here had come through Matthew's uncle, the Earl of Anglesey, who had spoken to someone in the peace delegation and suggested his nephew's presence might be useful, although Lord Anglesey's aim had been more for an intriguing honeymoon, for the couple. They were, as such, nominally part of the delegation, but primarily there to attend dinners and remind the French of British naval superiority; everyone at the dinner table knew who Matthew was, and what he had done, although the French were unfailingly polite. Georgiana, as she had indicated, did not mind the dinners; although shy in new company, she liked having some manner of society, and the food was so good she felt certain she had become a little heavier since they had arrived here.

"That is very good of you," Matthew smiled, and handed her the paper. "Will you see whether we need a carriage, to get there, and have them send someone up for the chest? Hawke will help point out the correct one. And the sword."

"I will. It is such an annoyance, to have to hire a carriage instead of being able to come and go as one pleases, but I suppose it cannot be helped, since we are here for such short duration," Georgiana said, to which he only nodded in agreement.

Georgiana approached the maître d'hôtel, who by now knew her to be the more fluent in French of the couple; Matthew readily admitted his education had tended more towards mathematics and navigation than foreign languages, although he seemed to get by with his few phrases and hand gestures, when Georgiana saw him communicating from afar. The need for a carriage was confirmed, and she asked that one be hired for them for the day, and someone be sent up for a particular chest in their room, and a sword, which her husband's valet would indicate. Then she returned to the settee where her husband was seated, to wait.

* * *

Georgiana did not know Paris so well yet to anticipate the quality of the neighbourhood they travelled to, but it became readily apparent to her that it was a poorer part of the city, and she was glad it was a fine, bright morning, for it was not the sort of place one would want to be at night. The carriage pulled to a halt in front of a building no more or less dark and decrepit than the rest on the street, and as he handed her down from the carriage, Matthew said, "Stay close to me, please," although he needn't have – Georgiana would have done so, anyway.

They made their way into the building, followed by a footman, who carried the battered old sea chest that had been sitting in a far corner of their apartment all this time. The entrance-hall was dim, and this may have caused it to seem slightly nicer on the whole than Georgiana had expected. They made their way up to the third floor, to the sound of a couple arguing elsewhere in the building, speaking so quickly that Georgiana could not understand much of what they said, although it was clear they said it angrily. With some relief, she watched the door to number six open in response to Matthew's knock, and found herself facing a harried-looking maid.

"Bonjour – Sir Matthew et Lady Stanton pour Madame Durand, s'il vous plaît," Georgiana said, wondering too late if she should have introduced her husband as a naval captain instead.

It did not seem to affect their entry, however, for the maid stood aside, motioning they should enter, and called out, "Deux anglais!"

A woman came in, then, looking tired but otherwise quite beautiful, a full head shorter than Georgiana, but of far more voluptuous figure, accentuated by a dress that was at least three or four years out of fashion, even to Georgiana's _anglais_ eye, and dyed black. She was followed by a boy of perhaps three years of age, also dressed in mourning.

"Good morning," she said. "I am Madame Durand, but I do not know to expect English callers. Please have seats. This is my son, Jean-Charles."

Like Matthew's first choice of hotels, the room was clean, but undeniably shabby. It appeared there were only two rooms to the apartment, and that Madame Durand and the boy had come from the only bedroom; perhaps the maid slept on a pallet on the floor. They sat, however, as the maid ushered the boy back into the bedroom, and the footman deposited the chest in the middle of the floor and was dismissed.

Madame Durand might not have known to expect English callers, but she knew full well what had just been placed in the middle of her little room; the worn sea chest had "C. Durand" painted in the centre of it, and down one side, a long list of ships' names, ending with the Polonais. She looked up at them with an expression of grim sadness, before kneeling in front of it, laying her hands down on the worn wood. Georgiana was not certain whether she reached for her husband's hand first, or he hers, but for some time they sat clasping hands on Madame Durand's worn sofa, watching her wipe a tear from her face.

"Lillette did not say your names," Madame Durand finally said. "I should think, why else would two English call on me, but to return this. I thank you very much for not sending only servants."

"Madame Durand, my name is Captain Matthew Stanton, and this is my wife, Lady Georgiana Stanton. I was – I commanded – I was captain of the Jupiter, the ship which captured the Polonais. I am very sorry for your loss. I have also your husband's sword."

Matthew made to hand her the sword, but Madame Durand looked up at him with an expression of fierce anger, saying, "I do not want his sword. I have no desire for pieces of war. I hold no anger for you, for you do your duty, as do Charles, but I do not wish to have that in what home I have left."

Matthew nodded, and pulled the sword back towards him, and he and Georgiana watched as Madame Durand pulled the top off of the chest and began removing its contents – simple, mundane things like shirts and books and writing things. Then a packet of letters, a fob watch, and a miniature, of her. Madame Durand looked up at them with a startled expression as she pulled out her late husband's purse, which sagged with coin.

"You do not take his money?"

"Of course not, madam, it belonged to him. We only take that which belonged to Napoleon."

Madame Durand opened the purse and placed her hand inside, seeming to count the coins with her fingers, and then whispering, "Dieu soit loué."

"Madame Durand, I hope I do not offend when I ask if your situation is such that you do not have enough money to live on, and if there is anything I may do to assist?" Matthew said.

"I have enough money to live on, for now, although before revolution I would not call this living," Madame Durand said motioning to the room around her and then holding up the purse. "This is welcome all the same. I use care with what is left of my husband's money, and with help of God it will last, until I am gave my father's land."

"You have lands that are owed to you?"

"It is my hope. My father was killed in revolution, and I have no brothers. I am hopeful with King restored and peace near, I may claim some of my father's land, but no attorney has time for a poor widow."

"We are here with the British delegation for peace, and are acquainted with several attorneys on the delegation. Will you allow me to speak to them on your behalf?"

"You do this for me?"

"Of course. You must let us know if there is anything else we may do, to assist you."

"Thank you," Madame Durand said, looking a little embarrassed. "You must know Charles did not like you English at all. I think where he is, he must feel a little poor now, at how kind you treat me."

They sat in silence for a few minutes following this, Madame Durand occasionally glancing down at the trunk. Georgiana looked at her sadly, and could not help but think of how she herself would react, in such a situation. Could she be kind, and polite, to the man who had brought about her husband's death?

"Madame Durand, I expect you have been wishing for our absence, so you may better acquaint yourself with the contents of Captain Durand's trunk," Georgiana said, finally. "Perhaps we may call again in a few days, when Captain Stanton has had a chance to speak with the attorneys?"

"I would have pleasure to receive you," Madame Durand said.

It was only when they had both sat back down inside the carriage that Matthew took Georgiana's hand back up and said, quite intensely: "Your brother did show you my will when you went over the marriage papers, did he not? You know you shall never be in a situation where you are that relieved over a small purse of coins. You will always have security in life, if anything should happen to me."

"He did, and I am very grateful for how concerned you both were for my welfare, although I do not like to think of the event which would cause need of it."

Georgiana knew that if that which she most feared did ever happen, she would never be reduced to Madame Durand's circumstances; even if Matthew had no fortune, as it seemed was the case with Captain Durand, she had brought her own fortune to their marriage, and would always have a home at Pemberley, if she needed it. Yet Matthew did have a fortune, and he had been exceedingly generous in his will; if anything should ever happen to him, she would not have a thought for one purse of coins, for she would be a terribly rich heiress, with most of what remained of their combined fortunes. And yet not as happy as she would be on this day, to be in the carriage with her very kind and handsome husband, now en route to sample all that which the French perfume houses had to offer.

"I am sorry. I know this visit must have made you think of it, but I cannot tell you how grateful I am that you came with me."

Georgiana squeezed his hand, to acknowledge what he had said, and they were silent for some time after that.

"Madame Durand is very beautiful, do you not think?" Georgiana asked, eventually.

"Hmm?" Matthew said, for he had been staring out the carriage window.

"I said Madame Durand is very beautiful. At least she has that in her favour – when her mourning period is completed, I do not think it will take her long to find another husband."

"I suppose she is, for the sort of man who prefers petite women," he said, slipping his arm around her waist and pulling her close to him. "I happen to prefer women of very different proportions. She is not your match in beauty, so far as I am concerned."

"Now you go too far. I am hardly beautiful."

"You are very beautiful to me," he said, kissing her, and then noticing her look of scepticism. "When you play the pianoforte, you have this look of both immense concentration and joyfulness on your countenance. I assure you, it is very beautiful, particularly when the sound is also so beautiful."

This soothed Georgiana, for although she was not at all the prideful sort, and barely counted herself as pretty, she was capable of any manner of jealousy, and found his statements precisely what she needed, for reassurance. Following them, she was very much inclined to find more ways in which they might assist Madame Durand.


	4. Part 1, Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

With only two couples remaining at Pemberley, dinners had settled into quite casual affairs. Elizabeth planned soon enough to begin inviting a family or two from the neighbourhood to join them every evening, but for now she was enjoying having only herself, her husband, and the Bingleys gathered in the small dining room to eat whatever abundant results of the day's shooting had not been sent home with the other gentlemen.

After each meal, they would all retreat to the blue drawing room, there to sit in private occupation, unless someone – usually Charles – might grow so bored as to suggest cards. Elizabeth and Darcy read, and Jane preferred needlework, although she went about it slowly, with an exhausted countenance that showed how much she attempted to spell the nurse, poor Mrs. Padgett, from young Elizabeth's squalling.

On the few nights when the baby was quiet, such as this one, she was brought down by Mrs. Padgett, so they all could spend some manner of peaceful time with her. Elizabeth held little Bess – they had settled upon this as a nickname, when it became clear that having two Elizabeths in the household should prove confusing – and was tempted to ruffle the baby's little fluff of blonde hair, but would not. Bess was sleeping, and they all spoke softly, when at all they spoke, for fear of waking her.

It was not to be, however. With no apparent cause, the baby woke, scrunched up her face, and emitted a shriek seemingly loud enough to be heard in Lambton, if not Derby. The only fortunate thing about the situation for Elizabeth was that no one looked at her, with her own rounded belly, and made any judgements about what she must have done wrong to anger the baby, and whether it indicated anything about her own fitness to be a mother. This was simply what Bess did, and Jane rushed over to pick her up, saying, "Oh, I am so sorry!" as she always did, and checking to see whether the baby was wet, which she was not.

Poor Mrs. Padgett was about to return her to the nursery to see if perhaps she was hungry, but Jane did not hand the baby over immediately. Instead, she waited for a break in the crying, and said: "Lizzy, will you humour me, just for a few minutes, and play the pianoforte?"

Elizabeth gave her sister a look she hoped indicated just how very much she felt this was the oddest thing that had ever been said, by Jane, and saw that her sister was very much in earnest in her request. Nor could Elizabeth make much in the line of argument, for she would be required to compete with her namesake in being heard, and Darcy and Charles were both looking at her in desperation. Any argument would only prolong things for all of them.

Before Elizabeth had married, she would have been the first to name herself but a mediocre player of the pianoforte. It was a useful skill, in her Hertfordshire neighbourhood, to be able to assist in providing the entertainment for an evening, and so she had kept with it, but never had the passion for it that might have seen her put in the hours of practise her sisters, Georgiana and Mary, did every day. If given the choice, she would always much prefer to be out for a country walk, than practising her music.

After she had married, with two such fervent piano players as as her sisters in their household, Elizabeth had rather assumed she should become one of those ladies who gave up the instrument upon marriage. Now, with some degree of horror, she was required to open up the cabinet beside the pianoforte – the old one that had been moved from the music room in favour of Georgiana's – and sort through the thick leather folders filled with music, to find something she had at least once been able to play.

With only the thought that she was about to add even more to the cacophony, Elizabeth seated herself at the bench and launched into the song. Her fingers were stiff, and she felt she stumbled rather more than she got right, and yet after a minute or so, Elizabeth realised that all she could hear was the sound of her own poor playing. She risked a glance at Jane, and found her sister still holding Bess, with a triumphant smile on her face.

"I knew it!" exclaimed Jane. "When I was still carrying her, and she would take to her kicking, she always stopped when I sat in the music room with Georgiana or Mary. And do you recall that day, when she was quiet?"

"Of course!" Charles said. "Our sister Mary said she had been neglecting her practise, and sat down for several hours. Do you think Bess could hear it all the way from the nursery?"

"It appears she did," Darcy said. "I congratulate you, Jane, on finding the solution, although I am rather afraid of what my wife thinks of it."

"I must admit right now I am wishing you had witheld your consent for Georgiana's marriage, so she might be here to perform this duty far better than I am able to," Elizabeth said, slurring her way to the end of the song and frantically flipping back to the beginning to play it again. "We must send for Mary tomorrow. Perhaps in a year or so she may be allowed to leave."

They all laughed, Mrs. Padgett included, but it was the exhausted, relieved laugh of five people who had not got nearly so much sleep as they should have for several fortnights.

* * *

It seemed that Elizabeth's hour of playing had some manner of lasting effect on little Bess, for even when she went upstairs to be changed, it was to the sound of a goodly silent house, Pemberley as it should be.

"If you don't mind my asking, ma'am, I have a great curiosity as to what it was that finally quieted the bairn," said Sarah, Elizabeth's lady's maid, as she finished removing the pins from Elizabeth's hair.

Some ladies might have minded their lady's maid asking any questions at all, but Elizabeth had a far closer relationship with Sarah, who had been the first to recognise Elizabeth's own pregnancy, and a steadfast servant since the beginning of Elizabeth's marriage. Elizabeth was very fond of Sarah, and would have forgiven any manner of transgressions far beyond what Sarah herself was actually capable of committing.

"I do not mind at all, Sarah," Elizabeth said. "Jane asked me to play the pianoforte – it seems she had a theory that it would quiet Bess, and that she was correct."

"I did not even realise you played, ma'am."

"You might not have, were it not for this. With my sisters in the household I had no need for it, and had thought I might give it up permanently."

"But you have the ability to create music, ma'am – that seems a rather powerful ability to give up."

It would be, Elizabeth realised, for Sarah, who had grown up on a small farm outside of Galway, and certainly would have had no opportunity to learn a musical instrument.

"Should you like to learn the pianoforte, Sarah? I expect we will be enlisting anyone who has interest in learning, so long as it continues to appease the baby."

"I would like that very much, ma'am," Sarah said, her voice indicating she was attempting to contain a degree of enthusiasm even beyond what her words indicated. She finished brushing Elizabeth's hair with a particular happiness, and they said their good nights.

Although she was nearly three months away from having her own child, Elizabeth still made her way to her husband's bedchamber, for she did not sleep well without him. She knew this was the largest factor in their inability to give up marital relations, even this far along in her pregnancy; it was far too easy, when they slept in the same bed, for a kiss and a caress to stoke her ardour, or his, and from there things would progress much as they had before Elizabeth had been with child.

When Elizabeth had come in, and kissed her husband, and felt his hands on her belly, and then her back, pulling her into another kiss, she could not help but speak, once the kiss had wound to its lovely, lingering end.

"Do you think we should stop, now that I have had the quickening?"

Darcy groaned. "I suppose we should. We have been intending to stop for some time now. Did we not say we were going to stop in September?"

"I believe we did. What is the date, today?"

"September twelfth," Darcy said.

Elizabeth laughed heartily, at this, and found herself joined by her husband. The truth was, although she knew at some point it should be uncomfortable for her, when her belly was grown too large, she was not yet at that point, and until she was, they would continue to struggle to find some _last_ day.

"This Saturday is the sixteenth," Darcy said. "Given the Sabbath is the next day, perhaps we should make the sixteenth our last?"

"It is a nice date to aim for. I cannot say I have any degree of confidence that we shall succeed."

"Perhaps I shall have to lock you out of my bedchamber."

"You would not."

"You are correct, and that is why we find ourselves in this predicament."

"Well, perhaps we should move this _predicament_ along, given we only have until Saturday," Elizabeth said, laying her hand upon his thigh, and then touching him in more sensitive places. "I am rather tired, after so much unexpected playing."

"I could not agree more, Elizabeth. And I must admit I am glad to hear you play again. I quite missed it."

Darcy, wisely, kissed his wife before she could make any manner of retort.


	5. Part 1, Chapter 5

I feel good enough about where I am in the editing to attempt twice-a-week posting now. Fingers crossed that I can stay at this pace!

**Chapter 5**

For the Stantons, life in Paris had begun to take on some semblance of normalcy and habit. Evenings were spent either in long, lavish dinners with the rest of the delegation, or, if they were not required for the evening, in quick dinners at one of the Parisian restaurants, followed by the opera or a concert, for both Georgiana and Matthew were terribly fond of music, and indulged this fondness as much as possible, now that they were married.

During the day, if the weather was poor, they would take callers or call themselves, for many of the delegation stayed in their own hotel or one of those nearby, and so no more than a short walk with an umbrella was required of them. On fine days like this one, however, they would most often walk out and wander, exploring the city, and only occasionally going so far or becoming so lost amidst the narrow, winding streets that they were required to seek out a fiacre to return them to the hotel.

Georgiana enjoyed Paris, although she did not think she should ever like to live here; currently everything was novel to her – the fine gardens and the architecture, so very different from what she had known all her life, and therefore interesting. Even as the city intrigued her, however, she had a sense that as she came to know it better, the novelty would wear thin, and she would wish to return home – although _home_ was a somewhat ambiguous word for her, presently.

As well, there was a grim sadness to Paris that made it difficult to love; it was a city in defeat, and one whose citizens must have seen Georgiana and Matthew as reminders of this defeat every bit as much as the English soldiers in the streets. Everyone was polite to them, but then, everyone they had met with – aside from Madame Durand – was either involved with the peace negotiations, or had some want of the Stantons's money.

Their strolls through the city often took them into the more commercial areas, a riot of signs competing for attention, and they preferred the bright, glass-covered passages filled with more refined shops. Matthew had waited patiently through any number of modistes and perfume houses, while they were both capable of becoming hopelessly distracted anywhere sheet music could be found to purchase, and thus often required to rush home to change for dinner when they noticed how late it had grown. Georgiana had by now purchased far more than she had expected to. She had never been enthusiastic about shopping, but when presented with the opportunity to readily acquire things which had before been nearly impossible to procure for most of her life, she had discovered a degree of enthusiasm which would likely dissipate immediately upon her return to England.

Today her mission was not to shop for herself, or even her close family and friends, but instead for Madame Durand, for Georgiana had suggested to Matthew that some little gifts might be procured before their next call on the widow. Fine things, but useful things, such that Madame Durand would not think them to be overreaching themselves, but pleased that they eased her burdens a little. Thus added to the rosewater Georgiana had already purchased alongside her own perfume were bolts of black muslin and silk crepe, soaps, candles, and some fine claret, of which they could not resist ordering more for themselves, and family. These items were all to be sent back to the hotel, so that they could continue to walk unencumbered, and as they approached one of the many tailor's shops lining the street, Matthew said:

"I suppose I should purchase some new shirts – a few of mine are grown quite worn. Hawke has been threatening to sew me new ones if I do not, and there are few things Hawke likes so well as a foppish shirt."

"You wish to _purchase shirts_?" Georgiana asked, incredulously, so strange the concept was to her. But then, she realised, he had no mother or sisters living to sew his shirts for him, and so his shirts must be procured in some manner.

"I did not think it quite so outlandish. I have been purchasing shirts since I was a commander, and it was no longer appropriate to sew my own."

She stared at him, even more incredulous. "You can _sew_? But you are a man!"

"Dearest, when we men are at sea for months at a time, do you think we let our clothes fall to pieces for want of a woman on board?" he asked, his countenance quite amused.

"No, I suppose not, but I had assumed Hawke does all of your mending for you, as he would do on land."

"Indeed he does, but I had no servant to do so until I achieved sufficient rank, and so I learned for myself."

"Yet you would purchase your shirts now?"

"Do you know of any other gentlemen who sew their own shirts?"

"No, of course not. I sewed all of Fitzwilliam's, until he married Elizabeth."

"It is appropriate for a lady to make shirts, then?"

"Yes, and I shall make yours, if you would like. Let us purchase some fine cambric and linen, instead of whole shirts."

"If you do not mind doing so, I rather like the idea of wearing shirts that have been made by your hands."

"I do not mind at all. If you like the fit of one of the worn ones, I shall take it apart and use it as a pattern."

"I do have one that I prefer."

They purchased the fabric, and then walked on down the passage, until they reached the modiste where Georgiana had ordered several dresses. Matthew paused, and asked if she would like to go in and see if her dresses were ready.

Georgiana readily agreed. She was eager to see how they had come out, for she liked the fabric very much – it had taken some degree of convincing to make Mademoiselle Barteau believe she would never wear any of the more diaphanous options presented to her at first, and then finally some silk of appropriate weight, but still very fine, had appeared.

Georgiana was quite pleasantly greeted by Mademoiselle Barteau, inquired after the dresses, and learned that one was indeed ready for her to try and see if it required additional alterations. She was sent into a room in the back of the shop with an assistant, who tightened her stays severely, and then assisted her into the dress. She came out with some degree of embarrassment; even in this fabric, she felt too much on display. Mademoiselle Barteau inspected the fit of the dress, and pronounced Georgiana to be a little bigger than when she had come in for her fitting, although nothing that could not be compensated for, to which Georgiana blushed, and was thankful that if her husband could overhear what had been said, he could not understand it.

She vowed to be more cautious about her selections at dinner, and to attempt to spend more time walking and less time shopping, and made her way to the front of the shop. There she spun so that he could see the full gown, which _was_ very finely done, even if it did leave exposed far more of Georgiana's bosom than she was comfortable with.

"What do you think of it?" she asked Matthew.

"I think you look very well in it, although I cannot say I like the idea of any other gentleman seeing you in it."

"I know precisely what you mean," she replied, then leaned close, and whispered, "I think I shall trim it with some lace, when we return to England."

With her stays still uncomfortably tight, but back in her original dress, Georgiana took up Matthew's arm, and they exited the shop. They were not but two paces down the passage when she halted completely, and breathlessly exclaimed: "Mr. Wickham!"

For there, approaching them in the passage, was not a man who looked like George Wickham from a brief, faraway glimpse, but instead a man who was, unmistakably and undoubtedly, George Wickham. He heard her, and recognised her, and made, with a panicked look on his face, as though he meant to evade them, but there was nowhere he could go in the passage, except into one of the shops, and those convenient to him were not ones which a gentleman would visit, without being accompanied by a lady. He must either greet them, or turn and walk the other way, and Georgiana watched as his face settled into an attempt at an amiable, charming smile, and he closed the distance to them. She tightened her grip on Matthew's arm, and felt him grow tense beside her.

"Miss Darcy! How very good – and most surprising – to see you. And how have you been?" Mr. Wickham asked.

"I am well, although I am Miss Darcy no longer. I am Lady Stanton, now."

"Ah, so you have married – my congratulations," he said, in a tone which completely belied that he had once attempted to make her his own wife, and just enough of a drawl to indicate he was at least a little drunk. "This must be your husband."

"Yes, Captain Sir Matthew Stanton." Georgiana and Matthew both agreed his full title was rather long, and awkward, but even though Matthew had not requested an introduction, she took a great deal of enjoyment in saying the whole of it, now, slowly and deliberately. "This is Mr. George Wickham."

"Mrs. Lydia Wickham's husband?" Matthew asked.

Wickham blanched at the question, looked briefly as though he wished to escape their company again, and then said, "Yes, Lydia's husband."

"I met Mrs. Wickham at Pemberley, in the summer," Matthew said. "However, it seems she was quite mistakenly in mourning."

"Yes, well, I had been trying to determine whether I should send word to her. I will not be returning to England, I do not think."

"You _will not_ return, or you _cannot_ return?" Matthew asked. "You seem to have come out of Waterloo rather unscathed for an ensign. I am less familiar with the workings of the army, but I had understood your role to be carrying the colours into battle."

"Yes, well – " here, something in Wickham's countenance seemed to give way, as though he was acquiescing to whatever amount of drink he had consumed. "As you say, I was a rather large target. People around me were falling, so I opted to fall, as well."

"You played dead, while your countrymen fought."

"It does sound rather poor, when you put it that way, but what do they really need an ensign for? If I had been able to wield my own gun, perhaps things would have been different."

"Somehow I doubt it, given you decided to desert, after the battle," Matthew said. "That is why you cannot return to England, is it not?"

"Perhaps."

"Paris is a rather good place to hide oneself, right now, although it may not be for long, as the occupation army settles in. And here you are with a nice suit of new clothes, and fine French brandy on your breath. Where did you get the money, for these things?"

"How I came into funds is not your business."

"You robbed your fallen comrades, did you not?" Matthew's voice was angry; far angrier than she had ever heard from him. "All those dead men on the battlefield, it must have been very easy to lift their purses."

Wickham paled again, and said nothing to deny that he had done so.

"You bloody coward. Men like you disgust me," Matthew said, and now it was Georgiana's turn to grow tense, for such an insult would certainly be grounds for Mr. Wickham to call him out.

Matthew was right, however, in calling Mr. Wickham a coward. His face turned furious at the insult, and he even seemed to contemplate his gloves for a moment, but then he shrugged, and said, "Think as you will, for your opinion makes no difference to me. Lady Stanton, it was good to see you. You look very well – marriage must suit you."

Mr. Wickham stepped around them, and made his way rapidly down the passage, leaving Georgiana and Matthew to stand there and eventually turn and face each other, Georgiana's countenance shocked, Matthew's most furious. He knew the whole of Georgiana's history with Mr. Wickham, and that the man's last comment had been a subtle reference to Georgiana's very nearly having eloped with him.

"I do not think it is possible for any one man to come up with any more ways in which he might infuriate me," Matthew said.

Georgiana had seen her sister, Elizabeth, diffuse any number of difficult situations with her humour; she should never have thought it required now, that she should be the one less affected out of an encounter with Mr. Wickham, her first since Ramsgate. Yet it seemed the best thing to attempt, and she replied, "It might have been worse. He did not insult the King, or kick a puppy."

He stared at her for a moment, before smiling, taking up her hands, and saying, "Oh, my dearest Georgiana, if you can be so complacent after seeing him, I must endeavour to follow your lead."

"I cannot say I am fully complacent, but I do not wish to allow him to ruin our day," she said, soothingly. "Let us go and have a nice dinner, and listen to Vivaldi tonight, and not think about someone who is not worth our thoughts."

"We must think of him a little more, though. Surely one of us must write to your brother and sister, and inform them that he lives."

Georgiana sighed. "You are right, although I wonder if it would be better for Lydia if he was still thought dead, particularly if he shall never return to England. She would go through a year of mourning, but then she would be free of him."

"If she remarried, though, she would be a bigamist. If her first marriage were ever found out, her second would be dissolved, and any children from that union declared bastards. It is unfortunate, that she shall have nothing to live on while he flounces around Paris spending dead men's money, but I do not see any way around it that is not fraught with risk."

Georgiana fell silent, for now she could not help but think that it had very nearly been her, in Lydia's situation.

"I will write to them of it," Matthew said. "You need not be faced with any more reminders of that man."

"No," Georgiana shook her head. "They will worry if they read we have met with Mr. Wickham, and the news does not come from my own hand. I will write to them; it will be no trouble."

"Are you quite certain?"

"I am," she said, taking up his arm and indicating they should begin the walk back to their hotel.

"I am impressed you are able to remain so calm after meeting with him. Is this the first time you have seen him, since that summer?"

"It is," Georgiana said. "I would not say that I am calm, but I find I am mostly relieved, that I did not make the mistake I might have, and very happy that I married a far better man."

"I suppose I shall take that as a compliment," he said, reaching over with his free hand and squeezing hers as it lay on his arm.

"Yes, I will own it is not the compliment you deserve, to be compared with such a man. You are all that is kind and handsome and brave, and I feel my good fortune quite independent of relief, I assure you."

* * *

Thankfully, perhaps, Mr. Wickham had recognised that he could not continue to leave his new wife tied up in the little room at the Gretna Green inn for an extended period of time, nor could he remain in Scotland and expect to receive any resolution on the matter of Georgiana's dowry. He had, therefore, after a few days, ordered her into a hired carriage. Among the clothes Georgiana had packed hurriedly before their departure had been a simple cloak, and this he had made her wear, so that he could hold a knife next to her side, and tell her before they left the little room: "I will not kill you, Georgiana, for you know you are worth far more to me alive than dead. If you do not make this easy for me, however, do not doubt that I will hurt you."

They had thus walked out of the inn looking like a newly married couple, Mr. Wickham acting the part of tender husband, all the while holding a knife's blade against his wife's ribcage. They entered the carriage, and Georgiana stared at him, wanting very badly to cry at her situation, at the hard look on his face, as she had so many times since his first betrayal of her. She willed herself to be strong; she certainly would cry again, but she would not allow him to see it.

For some indeterminate period of time they travelled, marked by three sunrises, but no stops of the carriage except to change horses. Georgiana had then, under threat of the knife, been ushered into a room at some nondescript and run-down inn, and tied around her mouth, wrists, and ankles again with the fabric. So very much she had wanted to shout, despite the knife at her side, to cry out that she was here against her will, that word should be sent to her brother, Fitzwilliam Darcy, of her location, and yet she had not. Even without the knife, Mr. Wickham had made clear to her that she was now his wife – in essence his property – and that it would be in her best interests not to anger him, so that he would feel a need to take _all_ his claims on his property.

Thus she remained trussed in the inn for what seemed nearly a fortnight, although the days and nights seemed to run together into a continual stream of despair, broken only when Mr. Wickham would untie her so that she could consume a little bread and watered-down wine. "This will not be forever, Georgiana, I promise," he said to her once, almost kindly, as he tied her arms again, but generally, she came to understand that she as a person meant far less to him than she as thirty thousand pounds, and if he had any regrets about what he was doing, it was not at all apparent to her.

After this fortnight, or something like it, she again found herself being removed with the knife under her cloak, to another hired carriage, and a drive of less than a drive gave up no secrets as to their location; as they finally slowed and then stopped, she got the sense that there must be a village, somewhere nearby, but not so much as to get an idea of in what direction the village laid. They left the carriage and entered a tiny little cottage, of only two rooms; one quite large, an L-shaped room which comprised the hearth, dining table, and a bed, and a second, smaller room, with another bed, a battered old wooden chair, and little else.

Georgiana was pushed into this room by her husband, who bolted what appeared to be a new lock on the door, so that she was thoroughly locked in from the outside. She was at least no longer gagged, and she took this opportunity to plead with him again, calling out behind the door:

"George – George, please! Just let me go home, please, and I am sure Fitzwilliam will give you my dowry," Georgiana called out, desperate, and very much hoping that it was true.

"I hope that your brother will be most forthcoming with your dowry, Georgiana," Mr. Wickham said. "As soon as he releases it, I shall release you, and I hope you know how I wish to. I have no desire to keep you here, while you long to be home. But we shall have to wait for your brother's response to my query. You might assist a resolution in the matter, were you to write to him a letter indicating you are unharmed, and untouched, insofar as the marriage bed is concerned, and awaiting his release of the funds which I am owed."

Georgiana did not see any way out of the situation; she said that if she should be given pen and ink, she would write that which he had requested. Pen, ink and paper were given to her, and, lacking any sort of secretary for the chair, she knelt on the floor of her little room and wrote a most desperate and sorrowful letter to her brother, apologising for her folly, but begging him that she be allowed to come home, even if he was required to release her dowry.

She was not informed as to whether or not her letter received a response.

* * *

This time, Georgiana woke softly, although chased by a lingering sense of dread, that her dream had been true, that her real life was lying in sad wretchedness on the tattered bed of that little cottage room, praying that she should be released and returned to the safety of Pemberley.

No, no, no, no. She had married Captain Sir Matthew Stanton; she had delighted in every note of the Vivaldi concert with him earlier that evening. They had separated at some point during the night, and she did not have his scarred arm draped over her side as proof, but she turned around to face him, and was reassured.

No doubt seeing Mr. Wickham that day had prompted a return of her nightmare, for that was what she must call it now; it had long since surpassed a bad dream. Matthew had called her calm, after the encounter, but clearly it had affected her, and she did not at all like that it had, that he could still have such power over her, even after she had assured Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth that he did not, in her letter to them.

Georgiana cannot help but wonder if her dream was how it would have been, if she had eloped with Mr. Wickham. Would he truly make no attempt to live as man and wife, and simply act as he must to collect her dowry? He did seem – at least for a time – to attempt married life with Lydia, and yet here he was in Paris, alive, and no attempt made to inform Lydia of his fate.

Georgiana frowned; she had told Matthew she did not want Wickham to ruin their day, and they had endeavoured not to allow him to do so, and yet here she was allowing him to ruin her night. She should not allow him any more of her thoughts – her waking thoughts, at least. Her dreams she could not control, and she found herself in no rush to attempt sleep again. Instead she laid there, watching Matthew's sleeping face, so much calmer than it had been earlier that day, hoping this calmness would infuse itself into her, that when she did drop into sleep eventually, it would be without any dreams.


	6. Part 1, Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Elizabeth had said it in a jesting tone, but she had been entirely serious that they should send for Mary, after their discovery that little Bess was placated by the sound of the pianoforte. When several sessions in the music room successfully halted the baby's crying, she raised the topic again, and everyone was in agreement with her that it should be done; the difficulty was in arranging the matter.

Mary, the lone Bennet sister not engaged, married, or possibly widowed, could not travel without a suitable companion. If the distance were shorter, a male servant might be sufficient, but everyone was in agreement that she should not stay overnight at a coaching inn with so little protection. Mr. Bennet's accompanying her back north was quickly discounted; Elizabeth's father was not of an age to bear another round trip to Pemberley, when it would be followed again by a trip when Elizabeth's child was born.

This left Darcy or Charles to journey down and accompany her, and given Charles had a child already in being, Darcy was clearly the logical choice. Elizabeth was not particularly happy about this, although she saw it was really the only option which made sense; she had vowed not to be parted from him after a frightening experience during the Corn Bill Riots, when he had been away from home, but felt herself too far along in her pregnancy to accompany him.

She shared these misgivings at the idea of his leaving as they made their usual – now quite short – walk along Pemberley's grounds that afternoon.

"I know, my dear, I hate to leave you, particularly when you are so far along," he said. "Yet perhaps it is for the best to be required to do so now. I believe I will go all the way down to London, and stay a day or so. I can ensure that all of our finances are in a settled place, for I expect we shall not be back to town for a half-year, at least, once the baby is born. As well, it will be easier to find good candidates for a wet nurse in town, than here."

"We have no need of a wet nurse," Elizabeth said. "Certainly someone to help care for the child, if it should prove so difficult as little Bess, but I wish to nurse the baby myself. I know it is not commonly done, but we are far enough away from town that no one shall know."

"If that is what you would choose, I have no objections to it; as you say, we are far enough away from town that it would not be public knowledge," Darcy said. "However, I should still prefer to hire a wet nurse from London."

Elizabeth shook her head. "There is no need, Darcy. We may find someone closer who is able to help mind the child."

"Of course, if you would prefer to interview the candidates, perhaps we should post advertisements in Matlock, and even Derby, after I am back."

"Yes, I believe I would prefer that. It is not that I do not trust your judgement, but this woman will look after our child – I would rather we interview her together."

"I understand completely, Elizabeth. But I do wish to point out that she must be a wet nurse. I understand your choice, and I respect it, but I must insist on this. She need not nurse frequently; just enough to maintain her livelihood."

"I do _not_ understand – if you respected my choice, you would believe that she should not need to nurse at all. The greatest importance is that she be skilled in caring for the child, not that she be able to serve as a source of food."

"I agree that the care she provides is of the greatest importance, but she should also be able to nurse the child."

"I do not know that we shall be able to find someone so capable of both in Matlock, or Derby."

"That is why I wished to find someone in town, Elizabeth."

"If you were not so insistent on her being a wet nurse, I do not think it would be difficult at all."

"I cannot yield on this, Elizabeth. I wish that I could, but I cannot."

Darcy exhaled sharply; Elizabeth could sense that he was growing frustrated, and yet she felt her own ire raised, which was exacerbated by the moods she found came with her present state.

"I do not understand why you cannot. I shall nurse the child, and we will find someone who has been acting as a nurse for older children to look after her, or him. The right candidate might see all of our children raised to the appropriate age."

"That would be a fine plan, but I must insist on this."

"You cannot insist on this without giving me a reason!"

"I would prefer not to."

"What sort of answer is that? You would _prefer not to_. This child is growing in my own belly right now. Do not my own preferences matter?"

"They do, Elizabeth. They are of the utmost importance."

"If they are of the utmost importance, you might respect them more! You might give me some reason, rather than pretending to listen, and then continuing on your own path."

"Is that what you think I am doing?"

"Did you think you were doing something else? For I cannot think of any other reason why you should insist we must hire a wet nurse!" Elizabeth stopped walking, upon exclaiming this, and turned to face him, defiantly.

"I insist, because if you die, the baby must have some means of nursing!" Darcy spoke in the agitation they both were feeling, he said it with an angry countenance that all but crumpled as soon as the words were out, and then he looked nothing but devastated.

Elizabeth caught the full force of his words, and of his devastation. Of course her planning for the baby had been simpler; she had assumed she should live. All of her thoughts had centred around a relatively simple notion: she would have a child, and she would live. Any alternative outcomes were possible, surely, but she had not brought herself to plan for them, or even to think of them, for after all, in such a scenario, she would be gone. Darcy, clearly, had not allowed himself the luxury of ignoring this possibility.

"I am sorry, Elizabeth," Darcy said, hoarsely. "You know how much I hate to bring about this topic, and I certainly did not mean to do so in such a way."

"It is I who should be sorry," she said, laying her hand against his cheek, and then kissing him gently. "I did not have that possibility in mind. Of course we should hire a wet nurse, to be prepared, if – "

"You need not say it. I do not want you to have to think about it. It pains me deeply to think about it myself, but I would gladly bear the burden of it, rather than have it be on your mind. You should think of your mother, and your sister, and that they have had six healthy children between them, and both live still."

"Six healthy girls."

"If I find myself spending this Christmas with a healthy wife and a healthy daughter, I can tell you with certainty it would be the happiest Christmas of my life."

"Mine as well," Elizabeth said, taking up his arm as they resumed their slow pace along the stream. "Although if her lungs were not _quite_ so healthy as little Bess's, I would make no complaints, there."

He chuckled softly, and said: "Thank God your sister has come up with the solution for that particular problem."

* * *

Darcy's preference would have been to leave for London at dawn the next morning, for he liked the earliest possible start for travel. However, in deference to his wife's needing to sleep later as her pregnancy progressed, and her wish to see him off, his actual departure was a full six hours after he had broken his fast. The Bingleys bade him farewell in the entrance-hall, leaving him and Elizabeth to some privacy out in the drive, as they stood next to the carriage and made their own good-bye.

"You will remember the sheet music, will you not? Simple pieces, that Jane and Sarah may learn with."

"You have reminded me of the sheet music at least thrice already, Elizabeth, and even if you had not, I would have remembered for the sake of preserving the peace of our household, not to mention my own sanity." He smiled, to indicate he was teasing her, although he was right; Elizabeth feared she was beginning to sound as fretful as her mother.

"I do feel badly that we have sent you on so many errands, in addition to so much travelling. I do not know how you shall bear it. The mere thought of it exhausts me."

"I cannot say that I am eager about it, but it must be done," he said, then, murmuring: "Perhaps this shall solve our dilemma as to when to cease marital relations, if you are notably farther along when I return."

"Perhaps you should delay your departure for another night, then. I was not thinking properly that last night would be our last time, until after the baby is born."

"Do not tempt me, madam."

Elizabeth smiled. "Perhaps it is for the best."

"Perhaps. Now kiss me goodbye, or it shall be time for dinner before I set off."

Elizabeth did as she was bade, trying not to think that it was to be her last kiss for at least eight days, and perhaps as many as ten. They embraced as best they could, given her belly, and she whispered, "Be safe, please."

"I will do my utmost. I love you, my darling Elizabeth."

"I love you, too."

With that, he climbed into the carriage, and ordered the driver to drive on, watching her out the window until the carriage made its turn. Elizabeth watched it roll down the drive with tears in her eyes, and only when it was out of sight did she sniffle, blame her excessive sentimentality on her pregnancy, and make her way back into the house.


	7. Part 1, Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Georgiana woke from what had thankfully been a shallow slumber, and found her husband still sound asleep beside her. She had not been sleeping well these last few nights, and found herself excessively tired during the days; last night, dinner with the delegation had seemed to wear on interminably, and she had feared she might fall asleep over the vol-au-vent. Fitful sleep, at least, was not deep enough for dreams, and she had not experienced any return of her dreams about having eloped with Mr. Wickham.

Mr. Wickham. They also had not seen him again, thankfully, although occasionally her thoughts could not help but flit towards him. On this morning, she was struck with the vision of him on the battlefield at Waterloo, making his way among the corpses of the other soldiers, stealing their purses. How long had he been about this task, picking his way through broken, bloodied bodies and severed limbs, reaching into the jackets of the dead to take their purses? The thought made bile rise in her throat, and she was startled to realise it had no intention of returning to her stomach; she only barely made it to the voilder before she was sick.

Her rush from the bed had been neither graceful nor quiet, and she was still heaving when she felt Matthew beside her, holding her braid back away from her face, as she was sick, again.

"You are unwell," he said. "Should we call for a physician?"

Georgiana felt the lingering embarrassment of having done such a thing in front of a man, even if he was her husband. Leaning back against his arm, she assessed herself. "No, I believe I am fine. I simply made myself ill. I was thinking about Mr. Wickham, robbing those corpses of their purses."

"Ah. The thought of that makes me a little ill, as well, but I wish he would not trouble your mind, Georgiana. You encouraged me not to allow him to ruin our day when we first encountered him, and he has surely ruined your morning."

"It is still early. Perhaps the morning may be recovered."

"I admire your spirit, dearest. Let us have a fine morning," he said, kissing her forehead and then helping her to rise.

They broke their fast as they usually did, at the little table in their sitting room, still wearing nightclothes and dressing gowns. They had planned on this day to call on Madame Durand, now that the basket of gifts they had prepared was quite full, and Matthew asked her if she still wished to do this. She replied that she did; she was feeling well, aside from still being a little unsettled in her stomach.

Matthew was dressed in what seemed a few minutes. His valet, Hawke, was a seaman who had been with Matthew from his first command, the eighteen-gun sloop HMS Victor, and had eventually taken on the role of steward by sea, which, for a gentleman who owned no estate, had somehow translated into valet by land. He dressed his employer with brisk, seamanlike efficiency, and Hughes was still lacing Georgiana's stays when Matthew called out over her dressing screen that he would take the basket downstairs and meet her there.

Hughes finished dressing Georgiana at a more reasonable pace, and by the time Georgiana emerged from the screen, both her husband and Hawke had left the room. Bidding Hughes a good day, she made her way into the hallway, idly thinking of how much nicer this space was than the dim, narrow corridor of their first hotel. She turned the corner toward the stairs, and there found herself pushed against the wall, a hand clapped tight over her mouth.

Mr. Wickham! So startled was Georgiana, she surely would have screamed if she had been able to, but it died deep in her throat as the slightest little yelp. She trembled and felt her pulse quicken; it seemed her dreams come to life, and she willed herself not to allow him to see how frightened she was.

"A few minutes of your time, please, Georgiana," he said. "Or, I am sorry, _Lady Stanton_. I am going to remove my hand. Do not scream, or you will regret it."

He removed his hand. Georgiana screamed, anyway, although she had not enough breath to make it very loud. She found herself slapped hard across the face for it. Shocked, she brought her hand up to her stinging cheek, and saw that he had produced a knife from somewhere, not so very different from the one in her dreams, and was pointing it at her throat.

"I would not try that again," he said, his voice hard, like it had been in her dreams.

"Whatever it is you want from me, I suspect you will not get it if I am dead."

"You are much feistier than you were when we courted, Georgiana. Perhaps I would have enjoyed being married to you. Certainly your figure has matured into that which is quite fine. There is not a dolly at Mademoiselle Laffitte's who can best you."

Georgiana glared at him as best she could, supported as she was by violently shaking knees. He was not holding the knife so very close to her that she felt it an immediate threat, but she remembered him from her dream, saying that he would not kill her, but he would hurt her, and thought it best not to attempt another scream, or to try to run away.

"So let us get about our business," Mr. Wickham said. "I find I've had a poor few nights at the gaming tables, and I am rather short of funds now. So here is what we are going to do. You are going to get me five hundred pounds, and in exchange I shall not tell your husband of the more _intimate_ details of our past."

"How do you think I should be able to get five hundred pounds, without my husband knowing about it?"

"I think if you had such sufficient motivation as I am providing you, you should be able to find a way."

"Even if I could, and cared to, he is already aware of my history as it regards you."

"So he is aware, then, that we anticipated our wedding vows, is he? That we laid together as man and wife several times?"

"That is a lie, and you know it!" Georgiana protested hotly.

"Perhaps it is, but will your husband believe it? I will tell him in very great detail of all of our escapades as we anticipated the marital bed."

"He will not believe you. He knows me, and he knows I would never do such a thing!"

"I would not be so sure, Georgiana. That fine little bosom of yours, I shall certainly speak of that, although now that I look again, I see they have grown larger. And of course, those long, lovely legs. How very nice it was to be between such a pair."

"Step back away from her, or I will relieve you of your hand," said a low voice, one that most certainly was not Georgiana's or Mr. Wickham's.

Georgiana realised with an overwhelming rush of relief that it was Matthew's, that there now was a sword blade between her throat and Mr. Wickham's wrist, such that there was no way he could cut her with the knife. Matthew had come upon them so quietly she had not even noticed the sword until it was there, a few inches away from her throat, but its proximity did not frighten her; the blade did not waver at all, and when she moved her eyes to look at Matthew's countenance, she saw a determination there that matched the steadiness of his grip.

Slowly, Mr. Wickham stepped away from her, followed by the sword's blade, and Georgiana felt her knees finally give way; they could no longer support her, and she sank heavily to the floor. When she looked up, she saw that Mr. Wickham's back was now against the wall opposite her, and Matthew had the point of the sword – Captain Durand's sword – pressed against Mr. Wickham's throat.

"Drop the knife," Matthew said, and Mr. Wickham did as he was bade, now looking very much to be the one who was frightened.

Matthew continued, in a calm, cold voice that startled Georgiana: "Allow me to make this very clear to you – if you slander my wife again, or lay so much as another finger on her, I will have you on the next naval ship bound for England, so that you may hang as a deserter."

"I doubt the French government will simply allow you to take a lawful inhabitant home to be hanged."

"The French government knows not that you are here, and it will know not that you are gone, bundled up and smuggled into the hold, where you may contemplate how days you have left before the gallows, down there with the rest of the rats."

Mr. Wickham made no response to this; he gaped stupidly for a little while, and then Matthew said, "Leave this place, and give us a wide berth, if you are to stay in Paris."

Thus dismissed, Wickham slunk away from Matthew, who continued to point the sword towards him. Only when Georgiana could hear the pounding of Mr. Wickham's boots down the stairs did Matthew turn to her, and with a rapid return of tenderness to his countenance, kneel down beside her.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, taking up her hand.

"No, just a little overwhelmed."

He reached out to caress her cheek, and had the misfortune of choosing the one Mr. Wickham had slapped. Georgiana started, and found his hand instead on her chin, tilting her head so that he could see her cheek, which must have held at least some degree of redness, more clearly.

"Georgiana, did he hit you?"

"He slapped me," she whispered.

All of the anger returned to his face, instantly, his eyes hardening. "I will have to call him out; it must be done, although he is even lower than I thought, to have done _that_. I will cut his cheek to the bone for it, if ever I can, and every time he looks in the mirror he may be reminded why he is the worst of men, to hit a woman."

Georgiana had, until now, been too stunned for tears, but she found herself crying as she pleaded: "Please do not! He will know you shall beat him if he chooses swords, so he will choose pistols, and anything may happen with pistols. He is too low a man for you to die over. Please, Matthew, do not fight him – "

She might have continued to plead, but she found herself taken up in a tight embrace, so that she sobbed against his shoulder, as he said, "If you wish it, I will not, my dearest, but I will make good on my promise to him, if he so much as touches you again."

Georgiana felt soothed, but she continued to cry for some time, overcome by all that had happened, and her relief that it was over. When finally she stopped, Matthew said, "Why do we not return to our apartment? You should rest; you have had quite the ordeal this morning."

He laid the sword down against the wall, and then assisted her to standing. Georgiana found, however, that she could not remain so. It was no longer that her knees could not support her, but instead that she found blackness encroaching rapidly on the edges of her vision, and she was overcome by dizziness; she would have sunk back to the floor if he had not caught her.

"You are unwell," he said, simply, and then supporting her heavily, helped her back into the apartment, and over to the chaise in their sitting room. Georgiana laid down there, still feeling exceedingly light-headed. She was not the sort to faint, and realised this was the closest she had ever come to doing so, which troubled her greatly.

She found now Hughes, in addition to Matthew, leaning over her with an expression of concern. Hughes, however, had smelling salts, and was holding them under Georgiana's nose, a sharp tang that made Georgiana nauseous again. She waved Hughes off, weakly, feeling once again overcome.

"Thank you, Hughes, but I do not believe I have need of those. I am a little better now."

"You should be seen by a doctor," Matthew said. "I will go down and ask that one be sent here. What is the word for physician, in French?"

A thought came to Georgiana as she recollected how she had felt over the last few days, and the symptoms that she must impart to a physician, if she was to be seen by one.

"Not just yet," she said. "Will you bring me my letters?"

Matthew looked at her as though she were not right in the head, in addition to being ill, but did oblige her, bringing the little bundle of letters Georgiana had received since she was in Paris, tied up with ribbon. Georgiana undid the ribbon and sorted through the letters until she found the one from her sister Elizabeth she sought; she scanned Elizabeth's slightly wild, but still elegant hand, until she found the passage she had recalled:

"My dear sister, it has occurred to me that there is more about the married state that I should have shared with you before your departure, and did not. No one shared it with me in detail, and I was only fortunate that Miss Kelly recognised my pregnancy, or it would have been some time before I recognised it myself. So please do allow me to share the symptoms you might encounter, if you are to become with child.

"You may find yourself ill in the mornings, perhaps even so much as to need to evacuate your stomach. Fortunately, this does not last the entire course of the pregnancy, but it may be rather severe in the beginning. This was the case for both Jane and I. Jane complained a great deal of dizziness, and I have felt it occasionally myself. I feel even more a great pervading tiredness, regardless of how much I sleep. You will also likely grow fuller in the bosom; that is how Sarah noticed it, at first, for me. She said my stays did not lace up as tight as they had before. You may already know this, but the surest sign is that you miss your courses, although you may experience these other symptoms even before you have that confirmation of your state."

Georgiana rested the letter on her lap and exhaled, deeply. "How long have we been in Paris?" she asked.

"Nearly three fortnights, I believe," Matthew said.

"I am at least a week late on my courses, then – I had lost track of time," Georgiana said. "Elizabeth wrote to me of the symptoms I should expect, if I was to become with child. I am not ill; I am pregnant."

Matthew's face showed every bit of the shock such a revelation must cause, and he asked, "So soon?"

"I suppose so. I thought it would take much longer, as was the case for my sister." Georgiana was still stunned by the thought that she should have a child, and she wondered if she should be worried, that the news did not make her so happy and serene as it had Jane and Elizabeth. Matthew, as well, looked more stunned than anything.

Georgiana was vaguely aware of Hughes slipping from the room, and leaving them to privacy, and then Matthew asked, quietly, "Does this please you, being with child?"

"I find myself more overwhelmed, than anything," Georgiana admitted. "I had always thought we should have children, and I would be a mother, but later, when I was older. I am not even nineteen, yet."

"I know what you mean," he said, clasping her hand. "And between us, we have only one living parent, who stands as a most terrible example."

He referred to his father, The Honourable Richard Stanton, a rector who believed in a strict and – so far as Georgiana saw it – cruel interpretation of the Bible. She had witnessed firsthand the father's heartless treatment of his son, and had only then begun to understand what had caused Matthew to leave home at eight and a half years of age, to join the navy.

"You will certainly be a much better father than him," Georgiana assured him. "Anyone who may lead men as you do can certainly lead a child on the right path."

"And you, who are all that is kind and gentle, will certainly be a wonderful mother," he said, leaning over to kiss her temple. "But right now you should rest, my dearest."

"Will you stay here, in the apartment?"

"Yes, of course. I assure you, Georgiana, so long as we might be in the same city as that miscreant, you shall never again be left unattended. I regret that I did not anticipate such a thing could have happened, after we first met with him, so that I might have saved you this distress."

"I do not see how you could have," Georgiana said. "And he might not have done what he did, if he had not gambled away his ill-gotten fortune."

"Is that what prompted this? I had wondered what caused him to persecute you."

"Yes. He wished to blackmail me."

"That much I gathered, from what I heard of your exchange. How he thought I should believe such a thing, I do not know. Beyond what I know of you, and your honesty, did he not think I was a participant in my own wedding night?"

Georgiana thought back to that night and could not help but blush as she thought of how oversensitive she had been to each and every one of his caresses, and how nervously she had come to the marriage bed, given the differing accounts she had received from the women of her family.

Elizabeth and her aunt Ellen had seen it their duty to prepare her, but had been vague about what was to happen, and given their accounts with a goodly degree of embarrassment, although indicating the act would be pleasurable in the long-term, with a husband who loved her so. Her aunt Catherine had been far more explicit about what was to happen, but had also indicated that she would not like it at all, although she was to lie there and allow her husband to do whatever he pleased. Thankfully, the better parts of each account had been correct, for Matthew was not pleased unless his wife was, as well.

Georgiana had become lost in her recollection, but Matthew did not seem to expect a response. Finally, she said, "How did you know that I was trapped in the hallway?"

"Hughes heard you scream. She ran down the back staircase and found me."

"How did you come by the sword so quickly?"

"I took it down with the basket. I handled things poorly with Madame Durand, when we met with her. I understand her sentiments regarding the sword, but her son will have little to remember his father by, as he grows up, and should certainly have his father's sword. That is what I should have told her, and I thought to make another attempt. I shall, when we do call on her, but we must save that for another day. For now, you should rest."

Georgiana herself felt the need to rest, even beyond the events of the morning. Her exhaustion seemed even greater, now that she had a true cause to attribute to it, and after Matthew kissed her temple again, and then moved away, she closed her eyes and very quickly drifted off to sleep.

* * *

If Georgiana had planned for such an extended captivity, she would have created some way of more accurately counting the days she spent, from the very beginning of when she was locked in the little room of the cottage. After what she thought was a month, during which Mr. Wickham only told her that her stubborn brother refused to release her dowry, she began her count at thirty, and took special care to increase it every morning.

Her count was now at three hundred and twenty. Her days were simple – her time passed, usually, by reading one of the books she had packed in her trunk, unless she was feeling too depressed to read. She had two meals a day of bread and a jug of watered wine, and occasionally a little meat or fruit, if Mr. Wickham was feeling generous. Once a week she was _allowed_ to do their laundry in a great pot in the main room, and once a day she was _allowed_ a walk outside, although the main purpose of this was to save Mr. Wickham's needing to empty and wash her chamber pot himself. It was during this daily walk that she felt the greatest temptation to attempt an escape, to throw the chamber pot at him and run away, as fast as she could. Yet she doubted she could outrun him for very long, and she feared what he would do to her if she failed in the attempt. Once, as she had been doing the washing, he had leant over her and violently pulled a section of her hair out of its braid, then sliced through it cleanly with his knife, cutting it from her head. When she asked him fearfully why he had done it, he responded mockingly that as a loving husband, he wished for a lock of his wife's hair, but Georgiana thought his true purpose had been to frighten and intimidate her, and he had been successful.

It was not that Mr. Wickham was not earning money, for he had lied his way into a position as a steward for an elderly estate owner, Mr. Thornfield, and must have known enough of his father's role to keep the position for so long. But Mr. Wickham lost his money as easily as he came by it, and she suspected he was in debt, although he would not speak of it to her. He spoke very little to her at all, merely opened the door to give her food and drink, and wordlessly escorted her outside on the occasions she was allowed to leave, always holding the knife. If he spoke at all, it was to indicate he was getting very impatient for his thirty thousand pounds, although he did not allow her to write to Fitzwilliam again; Georgiana suspected he withheld word from her in the hopes it would wear her brother down. She had long since begun to hope that it would; she cared not for her dowry, anymore, and simply longed to go home, to Pemberley, where she might have the luxuries she had never considered luxuries: a hot meal, a bath, a warm room to sleep in.

Mr. Wickham had only one sort of visitor, the girls he brought home from one of the local inns. Georgiana might have pleaded her case with them, to get word out that she was being held captive, but if they heard her stirring in the other room, Mr. Wickham spun a storey of how he was required to care for his wife, who had gone insane after their marriage, and then when they left, came into her room and threatened her with all the means he held, to be more quiet next time. Georgiana saw things, though, through the keyhole in the door, things which made her better understand what he had wanted to do on their wedding night. These girls seemed to enjoy it, and they seemed to care not that they participated in such an act without being married, but Georgiana still lived in fear that George would some day decide to claim his right as husband. She did not want him to touch her in that way, in those places.

On this three hundred and twentieth day, she was lying on the bed and reading. She supposed she should be thankful that Mr. Wickham had allowed her to keep the books she had packed, rather than claiming them for himself, but he seemed to have little interest in books, and perhaps his debts had not yet reached the point where he would think to sell them. If that time came, Georgiana thought she might well become his insane wife, with nothing remaining to occupy her mind.

The cottage door slammed closed, and Georgiana pretended to continue to be interested in her book; she did not like him to think she was eager for his presence, or any news he might bring. So she waited, lying there, until the door lock clunked open and he appeared, holding a jug of water mixed with a little wine, and the plate with her bread. It was becoming the season for blackberries, and he had been including a handful of those on the plate, as well, for the last few weeks. Georgiana could not call it a kindness, not from the man who would do this to her, but neither could she deny how much she had hoped for them on this day, as well, even if they were the tart early fruits of the season. Instead of just laying her meal down, and picking up her old plate and jug like he usually did, Mr. Wickham looked down at her, and said:

"Mr. Thornfield thinks to send me to Jamaica, to look after his plantation there, and that means you shall have to go, as well, given your brother remains so obstinate. I look forward to it, actually. A man might make a fortune in the West Indies, I think, and the fortune I had coming to me does not seem likely to appear."

"Mr. Wickham, I beg you, please, do not make me go with you. Will you keep me in captivity forever? Your object is achieved, but your aim is not met. Fitzwilliam can be very stubborn; he will not move on this. You will only have to bear the additional expense of my passage, and board, once we arrive."

"You are right that your brother is very stubborn, but so am I. So long as he is alive, you shall not see him, unless he gives me my due. As for the cost of your passage, Mr. Thornfield has provided for yours as well, knowing as he does how I care for my poor, crazy wife."

Georgiana knew she would cry – she could hardly avoid it, at the thought of being forced to leave England, and taken farther away from her brother – but she willed herself not to in his presence.

"Is there anything I might do to change your mind? May I write to Fitzwilliam again, to persuade him?"

"No, you may not. He shall have no word from you until he is serious about handing over your dowry. You may begin packing your trunk, however. We shall leave in three days."

With that, Mr. Wickham closed the door and locked it. Although hungry – Georgiana was perpetually hungry, for the bread never seemed quite enough – she could not bring herself to eat. If she left England, Georgiana felt certain she would never come home. The journey, however, might present some opportunity, if not to escape, then to at least get a letter to her brother, so that Fitzwilliam might know of her removal to Jamaica. If there was to be a letter sent, however, there must first be a letter written, and she had been allowed no ink or paper since that original letter she had been allowed to write. She would need something to make an ink out of, and glancing down at her plate, she realised she had it already.

Such an operation was too dangerous to conduct while Mr. Wickham was still at home, so she hid the blackberries in a corner of her trunk, and dutifully handed over her empty plate and jug in the morning, to be replaced with those which were full, before her morning walk with him. She ate her breakfast silently, and only when she had heard the cottage door slam shut did she remove the blackberries from the trunk, and set about to mashing them into an ink. She dared not use her hands, for fear they would be stained, and so she used the lip of the jug, which took quite a long while, but eventually did produce something she thought could be used as ink. Paper was not such a difficulty, for several of her books had empty pages. She tore one out, and determined that a hair pin was her best choice to substitute for a pen. It took a painful amount of time to write even "Dear Fitzwilliam," with such a small implement and the poor, watery ink, but she did manage it, and then continued:

"I can think not of how to begin this letter, other than to say I am very, very sorry for what I have done. I have paid the price for my mistake, and will continue to. I know that I have let you down terribly, and how poorly you must think of me, but if I am able to get this letter to you, I must beg of your brotherly love and assistance.

"I have been locked in a room in a little cottage since shortly after my marriage. I know not where the cottage is, but Mr. Wickham has been working as a steward for a man he calls Mr. Thornfield, although that may not be his real name. But Mr. Thornfield now intends to send Mr. Wickham to Jamaica, and I am to pack my trunk to leave in two days' time.

"Dear brother, if ever there is a way for you to intercept us, I beg of you please to do so. I care not for my dowry anymore. I want only to come home to Pemberley and to see you again, if you can still be brought to have any affection for me, after what I have done.

Your devoted and regretful sister,

GEORGIANA"

It took the blackberry ink a long time to finish its drying, and it had bled through the paper. When it finished, therefore, Georgiana wrapped it in another page torn from her book, which she had addressed to her brother at Pemberley, and folded them together. She had no wax to seal the letter, and so stitched it up carefully with a needle and thread – for these she was allowed, so that she could mend Mr. Wickham's clothes, and her own – then hid it within the pages of the book, which she wrapped up in a dress, along with her other books. When it came time to travel to whatever port they would take passage from, she would tuck it into her stays, along with the few coins she had managed to keep hidden from Mr. Wickham, and hope for some opportunity to convince someone along the journey to post it for her.

For now, she occupied herself by once again searching the room for any means of escape, as she had done so many times before, to no avail. The windows had originally come down to a normal height, but they had been boarded up, leaving only an opening far too small for Georgiana to fit through. She stood on the chair and pulled at the top plank with all her strength, but as before, it was far too thoroughly boarded up for escape. When she had once again exhausted this and all other options she could think of, she laid down on the bed with her book, and waited, for it was all she could do until they were to leave.

Mr. Wickham returned home at his usual hour, and once again unlocked her door and stood there with her evening meal. Instead of exchanging the plate and jug, though, he placed them on the floor and locked the door closed behind him. Georgiana sat rigidly on the bed, afraid of what he would do next, but he did not touch her. Instead – and she quickly came to see that this was far worse, he went to her trunk and opened it, then began rifling through it. He had done this before only once, when he had first deposited it in her room and searched it for anything of great value, confiscating – and she assumed selling – her jewellry.

"You don't seem to have packed very thoroughly, Georgiana," he said, his tone mocking. "But I suspect you have something new packed away here."

"I do not know what you mean," she said, her heart pounding.

"I believe you do. You had sufficient means, and motivation." He reached the dress her books were wrapped in, and slid them out, opening one, rifling through the pages, and then another, doing the same. It was the third in which she had hidden the letter, and when he picked it up, she could not help but jump up and grab his arm, crying out: "No, please!"

He threw her down with remarkable force, such that she had difficulty breathing when she first hit the floor, but she heard well enough his triumph as he extracted the letter. Georgiana waited for him to tear it into pieces, but he did not.

"And here it is, in your own sad little hand."

Georgiana sat up on the floor and stared at him, feeling the tears streaming down her face. The letter had been her only chance, and she had not hidden it well enough. She should have thought that he would search her room, and now she would not have another chance; he would not be so foolish as to provide her with the blackberries again.

"What do you wait for?" she asked. "I know you will not deny yourself the pleasure of destroying it in front of me."

"Destroy it? Why should I destroy it, Georgiana, when I have worked so hard for its creation? Oh, no, I shall certainly post it, although I will wait a few days, so the date I am sure you have included gives it additional urgency."

"I do not understand. Why should you post it?" she asked, fearfully.

"_We_ are not going to Jamaica, Georgiana. But since your brother will not release your inheritance, I have set my sights on a larger prize – Pemberley."

Georgiana trembled at the way he said it, and waited for him to continue, which it seemed he could not resist, in his triumph.

"I have an acquaintance, in the militia," Mr. Wickham said. "He thought to join the regulars once, but do you know what he said they toast, there? 'To a bloody war, or a sickly season,' he said, and he rightly wanted no part of that. And do you know where some of the sickliest seasons are to be had? In the West Indies. So when your brother finally receives a clue as to your whereabouts, and it is in Jamaica, he shall hardly be able to resist going after you there. It is likely a man like him, never exposed to the common diseases of those parts, will have no resistance. He takes sick and dies, and you, my _dear wife_, shall inherit Pemberley. Which means that I, as your husband, shall control it."

Georgiana stared at him in shock and horror. She could never have suspected that this was his plan, in telling her they were going to Jamaica, nor that he must have been giving her the blackberries for dinner for weeks in advance so that she would not suspect he _wanted_ her to write the letter.

"Please do not," she whispered. "Please."

These were all the words she could manage, before she collapsed, sobbing, on the floor.

* * *

"Georgiana! Georgiana!"

This time, she was pulled violently from the dream, waking so disoriented that at first she did not know how she had come to be in a rather nice room, and she did not know who was shaking her shoulder so.

In a few moments, she recollected herself. Of course it was Matthew shaking her shoulder, and they were in Paris, and he loved her, and George Wickham had merely accosted her earlier that day. She emitted an actual sob of relief, and sat up rapidly, so that she could pull him into the tightest of embraces.

"Thank God it was not real," she murmured.

"You were becoming ever more agitated in your sleep," he said. "I did not know if it was right to wake you, but I could not bear to watch it any longer."

"It was very much right to wake me. It was a most horrible dream."

"This is not the first nightmare you have had," he said, pulling away from the embrace so he could look at her, concerned. "Would you like to talk about it?"

The thought of sharing even the subject of her dreams made Georgiana's stomach sink in shame. Yet while she could brush off his invitation to speak of her dreams in the middle of the night, she knew she should not do so now. They were not so long married, and she expected it would be quite hurtful to him, if she was not willing to share.

Georgiana sighed, and moved her legs so that he would have more space to sit beside her, and then said, "I have this recurring dream, which began with Mr. Wickham convincing me to elope before my brother arrived in Ramsgate. We go to Gretna Green, and are wed, and all that happens after is simply awful."

"My God," he said, taking up her hand and clasping it tightly. "He does not – "

"He does not force me to share the marriage bed, if that is what you were thinking. There is no sharing of the marriage bed at all, thankfully."

"It is what I feared, yes. It would have explained the degree of distress I saw, and it made me wish I had woke you at the first sign of it."

"If you have opportunity to do so in the future, please do," Georgiana said. "But my distress was of a different sort."

She proceeded to tell him of the nature of her captivity, of being deprived of nearly every physical and emotional comfort, culminating in Mr. Wickham's manipulating her into writing the letter.

"It seemed so real," she said. "It felt as though I had been living in that room for more than a year, and that all hope was truly lost."

"It must have been beyond horrible for you, particularly to follow what happened this morning. I did not think it possible, but I believe I hate that man even more, now."

"You cannot hate a man for what he does in dreams."

"In his case I believe I can, for I can see it in his character to do all that you described, and I believe you can, as well, which must make the dreams all the more real."

"But they are not real," Georgiana said, firmly, as much for herself as for him.

"No, of course not. And I promise I shall wake you at the first sign of any distress, if it happens again, although I dearly hope it does not."

"Yes," she said. "Please do wake me. Please bring me back to you."


	8. Part 1, Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Elizabeth sighed over her book, and wished yet again that the saloon was not so near to the music room that the sounds from within could still be heard. She supposed herself ungrateful for thinking such a thing, for the sound emanating from that room was the reason for Pemberley's no longer being exposed to the screams of Bess Bingley, and that the sound was produced by others was the only reason Elizabeth herself could even be in this room instead.

The sound was the melody to "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," which had been hummed by poor Mrs. Padgett as one of the few things that seemed to calm Bess, and then painfully transcribed to pianoforte by Elizabeth. Hummed, it offered the baby some comfort, but on the pianoforte, it utterly captivated her, even when played quite poorly.

It was played quite poorly with great frequency, for Elizabeth had – recognising its simplicity – made it the first piece that Jane, Charles, Sarah, and Mrs. Padgett were to learn on the pianoforte. This freed her from the need to be called urgently into the music room every time Bess fussed, so that she could play and calm the baby. Yet it meant she was subjected instead to that same song on an ongoing basis.

Based on the current style, Elizabeth assumed it to be Sarah doing the playing, for it spoke of some attempt at refinement and proficiency, rather than the plodding, hesitant searching of notes that characterised both of the Bingleys. Elizabeth knew that it would be at least several more days more before her husband returned to Pemberley with Mary, but she hoped they would arrive as soon as possible. Sarah, at the least, would soon require new music and more instruction, and although Elizabeth had initially instructed her own sister, she suspected Mary would take some measure of enjoyment in being applied to as a teacher, and thus have more patience for it than Elizabeth did.

As well, Mary's arrival would also mean the return of Darcy, and Elizabeth missed him deeply. She had written him – a tender letter that contained little in the way of news, aside from the fact that the pianoforte continued to placate the baby, and that she had been instructing the new music pupils. His contained more, although much of it mundane. He had concluded his business at both Hoares and Drummonds, and thoroughly reviewed all of the accounts at their London house. Some of their acquaintances had by now returned to town for the little season, and he had called on Lord Anglesey, Lady Tonbridge, and the Gardiners. With all of these things completed, he was ready to depart for Longbourn, and although Elizabeth appreciated all of the news contained within, it was the sentiments that followed which filled her with both love and longing.

Sarah's rendition of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" had ceased, and Elizabeth decided to take her book to the music room, which was now the most popular room in the house. In that space, Jane was sitting quietly, with little Bess sleeping in her arms, and Sarah had already left the room. Elizabeth realised there must be some degree of awkwardness for Sarah, to be playing an instrument in a room where she was not invited to spend her leisure hours, and that if Sarah continued to be as dedicated a pupil as she was now, some accommodation should be made for her in the staff rooms.

As though Mrs. Reynolds had been reading her thoughts, Pemberley's housekeeper appeared in the door to the music room, curtseying, and, upon noting the sleeping infant, making her way over to where Elizabeth sat with very soft steps, and handing over a letter.

"There's a letter come from Miss – Lady Stanton," she whispered. "I thought you should like it at once."

"Indeed, thank you, Mrs. Reynolds."

Mrs. Reynolds looked as though she wished to wait for the opening of the letter, to learn whatever news it might contain – Georgiana was well-loved among Pemberley's staff, particularly its housekeeper, and Mrs. Reynolds had not been very enthusiastic about the idea of the young lady's leaving home and eventually setting up a household of her own. Recollecting herself, however, Mrs. Reynolds made her curtsey to leave, but Elizabeth stopped her.

"Wait, Mrs. Reynolds – I had wanted to ask. Is there a pianoforte, down in the staff rooms?"

"There was, ma'am. My predecessor, Mrs. Woburn, liked to play very much. But none of us plays now – excepting Sarah, I suppose, now that she is learning. It's been moved into storage, these ten years or so."

"Do you think it might be brought out, and tuned and repaired, if repairs are needed? I should like for Sarah to have an instrument more convenient for her to practise on, in addition to her assisting us with Bess, up here."

"Of course, ma'am. I shall have it brought out, and send for the tuner in Derby. Should you like me to have the pianoforte in the state rooms tuned as well? The music room and blue drawing room were just done."

"Oh, yes, I suppose so. Thank you for thinking of it, Mrs. Reynolds," Elizabeth said, by way of covering that she had entirely forgotten there was a pianoforte in the state rooms.

The state rooms were not something Elizabeth – or anyone else in the house, excepting the maids who cleaned them once a week – gave much thought to. They had been converted over from other spaces by Darcy's great-grandfather when the house was completed, under the hopes by that man of someday hosting the royal family. Such a visit had never occurred, nor was there any likelihood of it, unless there was some falling-out of significance between that family and the Cavendishes, which would preclude their staying at Chatsworth, and so the state rooms sat generally empty but for two purposes. The first was to provide those who applied to see the house with spaces which could be viewed when the family was in residence, and the second was to house any nobility who came to stay with them. Thankfully, the apartments had two bedrooms which could be entered entirely separately, otherwise Elizabeth was not certain what she would have done for her last house party, with two earls in residence; even determining precedence for dinner had required a quick look at Debrett's.

Once Mrs. Reynolds had left, Elizabeth turned to Jane and gave her a silent smile, for she had hardly greeted her sister upon entering the room. Jane now finally wore the smile that should be expected of her, that of a most kind-hearted mother to a baby who was not constantly terrorising the whole house. Jane was also as understanding as ever, and encouraged Elizabeth to read her letter, and share whatever news Georgiana should have.

Elizabeth thought it odd, upon looking at the letter, that it was addressed to both her and Darcy, for Georgiana usually wrote them independently, as they each preferred observations on different aspects of Georgiana's travels, although certainly knowing that all the news of her letters should be shared between them. It was also rather thin for a letter from Georgiana. With curiosity and a little concern, she read:

"My Dear Brother and Sister,

"I hope I do not alarm you by writing to both of you together, but I have news which should not be delayed. Mr. Wickham is alive – Matthew and I encountered him while shopping today."

Elizabeth gasped, thankfully not waking Bess, but it was a sound which could not go without some manner of explanation to Jane.

"She writes that Wickham is alive – they have apparently seen him."

"Oh my – what does she say? Was he badly injured, in the battle?"

Elizabeth was hesitant to read the letter aloud before she had read it herself, for anything Georgiana should write to her about George Wickham would by its nature be sensitive. Jane knew already the full history of Wickham's wrongdoings, but anything that dealt with Georgiana's feelings upon seeing him again, and was addressed only to her and Darcy, must be kept private. Therefore, Elizabeth paused briefly to summarise for Jane, as she continued to read:

"He was very surprised to see us, and I believe if he could have avoided us, he would have. Matthew was not shy about pointing out to him that Lydia was in mourning, and he said that he had been trying to decide whether to send word to her that he lived or not, but I do not think he ever had serious intent of doing so.

"He did not receive any injuries in the Battle at Waterloo. It seems instead that he decided to fall as his comrades were falling, and pretend at being dead for the course of the battle. When it was over – I hate to think of this, but I shall tell you of it – Matthew indicated that he had robbed the dead of their purses, and Mr. Wickham did not deny that he had done so, which I can only take as an admission that he did, for he was dressed very fine, and gave no evidence of having any other source of income. Even if he did not do this, there can be no doubt that he is a deserter, having left the army following the battle and then making no attempt to reestablish contact.

"I hate to be the bearer of this news, although it will release your sister from her period of mourning. I suspect that you would agree with me in thinking it might have been better for her had he been truly dead, and you must know that it weighs heavily on my mind that I narrowly escaped the fate which she now faces.

"Aside from that, however, seeing him again has not injured me in any way. I am merely glad once again at my brother's intervention, and that I find myself in a far happier marriage. Matthew and I are both well, and I expect we shall not see Mr. Wickham again.

"I hope this letter also finds you well, and that little Elizabeth is by now doing better. Please give the Bingleys my best wishes.

"Your loving sister,

"GEORGIANA"

Jane did not seem to mind that Elizabeth read the last few lines of the letter silently, so shocked was she by that which had come before.

"I can hardly believe it," Jane said. "There must be some misunderstanding. Perhaps they did not fully comprehend him, and he has been trying to make his way to Lydia, and is not truly a deserter."

"Oh, Jane, I wish for Lydia's sake that you were right, but I do not think so. Lydia and the Fitzwilliams spent a great deal of time searching for Mr. Wickham, after the battle. If he had wished to be found, he might have been found then, and if not, he has had ample time to make his situation known to her. Georgiana indicated he was well-dressed – certainly he could have spared a little money out of what he devoted to his wardrobe to send word to her. Georgiana has no difficulty in getting letters to us."

"But Georgiana is with the official delegation."

"Indeed, she is. And perhaps I would feel more lenient towards Wickham if he had asked for her assistance in sending a letter to Lydia. But he did not, and I assume he will not. Jane, we must face that our sister shall – for as long as he lives – remain trapped in a marriage with a man who has no intention of supporting her, or even living in the same country as her."

"Poor Lydia! Will you write to papa with this news?"

"No. Lydia is a married woman, and perhaps if we treat her as an adult, she shall act more like one," Elizabeth said, hoping this was true, although not entirely sure that it was. Certainly Lydia had been quieter, since going into mourning. "I shall write to her directly with it."

"But what if she decides to go join him in Paris?"

Elizabeth could not imagine doing so; if she had been in Lydia's place, she would have been furious. Yet Jane did have a point – Lydia might very well give Wickham the benefit of the doubt, as Jane had initially, and decide to go to him in Paris, just as she had followed him to the Netherlands when war had once again broken out.

"She might do so. At least if she does, Georgiana and Matthew are there. Perhaps her presence would convince Wickham to act more honourably, although it would mean we might not see much of her again, if Georgiana is correct that he cannot return to England."

"Oh Lizzy, I cannot imagine having to make such a choice."

"And you will not have to, because you did not elope with such a man," Elizabeth said.

Jane had not even once held a tendre for him, as Elizabeth had, she could not help but think, with a rush of shame. She had been taken in every bit as much as Georgiana by his lies, although the lies he told her were of a different nature, and had, for a time, helped to poison her mind against the man she now loved with all her heart.

"I hope you will be more sympathetic in your letter than that, Lizzy, or you should let me write it."

It was very tempting, to allow Jane to bear the burden of giving the news. Jane would likely be more kind in doing so, but also much less firm in indicating that Wickham had done wrong, and with Lydia receiving the letter, that firmness would be of utmost importance. Still, Jane's admonishment was a goodly reminder to be sympathetic, while also being firm.

"I will, I promise, Jane. I had better do so now."

Elizabeth considered writing Darcy, as well, whom she knew would want to know as soon as possible. In addition to his longstanding enmity with Wickham, that Georgiana had been the one to discover him alive would be quite troubling to him. Elizabeth was glad that Georgiana had given her reassurances at not being injured by seeing him, and that she had written so in her own careful hand.

Perhaps it was better, though, that Darcy be able to see this for himself, and given he and Mary had likely already departed for Pemberley, or would well before even an express reached Longbourn, she would have to wait to inform him in person. For now, however, she had a most unfortunate letter to write.

* * *

The letter was written, and even given over to Jane for review, before it was sent into Lambton with a servant the day following, so that it could be posted. That servant returned with not one but two letters from Lady Harrison, formerly Caroline Bingley, one addressed to Jane, and the other to Charles.

There was not time for these letters to be read before dinner, but they were brought out following it, while Elizabeth was taking her turn on the pianoforte.

"Caroline writes that all is wonderful at Hilcote, and she is quite settled in as mistress of the house," Jane said. "She is planning to redecorate the drawing room first, in the style of Mr. Hope, and then the mistress's chambers. The rest of the house will follow."

"That is strange," Charles said. "She writes that her decorating budget will not cover a quarter of what needs to be done, and she is quite unhappy that Sir Sedgewick intends to put so much of her dowry into improvements on the estate, rather than the house. Oh – I suppose I was not meant to share all of that," he finished, his face falling.

"I do not know how Caroline would think you would not discuss it, at least with me," Jane said. "Will do you anything to intervene?"

"I do not think there is anything I can do," Charles said. "Sir Sedgewick is her husband now, and the marriage articles _were_ fairly generous, as regarded her pin money. I expect Caroline wishes to make more changes to the house immediately than they can afford. She would have done the same at Netherfield, if she had continued on as mistress of the house. And I can hardly argue with his putting more of the money into improvements on the estate. If they improve its returns, it would ultimately be better for them both in the long-term."

"Still, I feel badly for her," Jane said. "She was so happy about moving there and setting up her household."

Elizabeth felt Caroline had been rather more happy about bragging to her acquaintances about how happy she was, instead of being truly happy. Still, like Jane, she could not help but feel a little sympathy towards Caroline, who had, perhaps concerned she was running out of opportunities as she grew older and neared the age where she would begin to lose her looks, married an ill-looking man without even seeing his estate.

Not too much sympathy, however. This was Caroline, after all, and Elizabeth suspected that the rooms at Hilcote were more than sufficient, and Caroline simply wished to show away by redecorating them all, instead of seeing the money spent more wisely. Caroline would favour furniture such as that in Elizabeth's overdone bedchamber, a final remnant of Lady Anne Darcy's more grandiose taste, although at least Lady Anne had been able to afford her own taste. Elizabeth thought again idly that she should begin her own redecoration of those rooms; perhaps she would make her start after the baby was born, for she was not in such a rush as Caroline seemed to be, perhaps because she spent more of her time in the master's bedchamber, anyway.


	9. Part 1, Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

For four nights, Georgiana had gone to bed in the company of an exceedingly solicitous husband, who was as worried as she about the return of her dreams. For three mornings, she had been asked with concern about whether they had returned, and thankfully on this, the fourth morning, her answer was in the negative, and then followed by an unfortunate bout of sickness, as it had been on the other three.

This day was marked with a steady drizzle, so that even later in the morning, when Georgiana was feeling better, they had determined they should stay in for the day. Georgiana decided she should apply her time to making Matthew's shirts; she had by now taken apart the one which was to be used as a pattern, but made no other progress. Matthew, meanwhile, occupied himself with one of the pamphlets he was always reading, perhaps some treatise on navigation, or an account of some voyage or battle – Georgiana could not see the title from where she was seated, but assumed it was something of the like. They were thus when one of the hotel's footmen knocked on their door, and delivered a note.

It was addressed to Georgiana, and from Madame Durand, its contents unsurprising. Madame Durand thanked them again for calling, for their kind gifts to her, and for their assistance in the matter of her lands. As well, and as emotionally as Madame Durand's limited English could convey, she thanked Sir Matthew for making her reconsider her husband's sword, and what it should mean to her son someday. For now, it was packed away in what little storage space Madame Durand's apartment held, and Madame Durand herself had no notion that it had been used to threaten George Wickham's limbs and life, the day before it had been given to her.

Georgiana handed the note to Matthew to read, and he had only just finished it when two gentleman from the delegation were announced, there, in part, on the business of Madam Durand's lands. They were Sir John Walcott, a career diplomat who had earned his knighthood thusly, and whose wife was among those in the delegation who had befriended Georgiana, and Mr. James Roberts, the attorney with whom Matthew had been consulting on Madame Durand's case.

"As I looked at the particulars of it, I believed it to be beyond my knowledge of French law," Mr. Roberts said, once they had completed their greetings. "However, I have found a French attorney willing to take on her case; Monsieur Laquerre's credentials are excellent, he has handled several cases of this nature, and his fees are reasonable. I will arrange for you and Madame Durand to meet with him, if you wish."

"Yes, please do," Matthew said. "Lady Stanton and I thank you greatly for your assistance in this matter, as will Madame Durand, I am certain. And we shall be paying his fees, as well as yours."

"The time I have spent on it is hardly worth a fee," Mr. Roberts said.

"Perhaps some French brandy, then."

"Now you know that is hardly a thing which I can turn down," Mr. Roberts laughed.

"We have come for another reason, as well," Sir John said. "We have heard of an exceptional French gunsmith, across town, and hired a carriage so we might pay a visit. Should you like to come?"

Matthew looked to Georgiana with a guilty countenance that indicated he did indeed want to come, but did not wish to leave her alone.

"You should go," Georgiana encouraged. "You have spent more than enough time visiting all manner of ladies's shops; you deserve a morning in more masculine pursuits."

"Hear her," said Sir John. "And I expect eventually Lady Walcott shall brave the rain and come to call on you, Lady Stanton, so it is not as though you will be without company."

In the face of such encouragement, Matthew indicated he would go with them, but not before he had summoned Hawke up to the room to sit with her, which Georgiana was glad of. They both had lingering concerns of Mr. Wickham returning, but Hawke's burly presence made her feel as safe as she would have been if her husband remained, although not so comfortable.

The gentlemen left, and Hawke eyed her work on the shirt with some manner of jealousy, before repairing to the bedchamber, presumably to sit there so that he did not have to watch her. Matthew had told her that Hawke had, very grudgingly, acknowledged her right as his wife to make his shirts, but that he was not particularly happy about it.

When the footman once again knocked on the door to announce a caller, Georgiana assumed it would be Lady Walcott, come to call on her. Instead, however, he said: "A gentleman, is to call on Sir Matthew and Lady Stanton."

Georgiana grew very tense, fearing Mr. Wickham had returned – for who else should refuse to give his name? – and was glad that Hawke had already made his way into the room. She informed the footman in her best French to tell the gentleman they were not receiving unidentified callers.

He nodded and closed the door, and Hawke remained standing directly in front of it, in case Wickham should now attempt to force his way in. After what seemed a long time, the footman once again knocked on the door, and now said: "Colonel Edward Fitzwilliam, is to call on Sir Matthew and Lady Stanton."

"Oh, please send him in!" Georgiana exclaimed, quite surprised. She repeated herself more properly in French, and the footman withdrew.

It was only when Hawke said to her, "If he ain't wearin' a colonel's uniform, you say the word to me, and I'll throw 'm out," that Georgiana felt any degree of fear that this could be a new attempt by Mr. Wickham to gain entry. After all, she had received no word from Edward or any of the Fitzwilliams that he should be in Paris, nor even that he should continue to be addressed as a Colonel at all, for the last she had heard of him, he was still on leave and living with the family at Stradbroke, and not at all sure that he would return to his career.

The man who came through the door, however, was most certainly Edward. He was dressed in his uniform, with the left sleeve pinned to his jacket, owing to the arm he had lost at Waterloo, so that Hawke should have no need of any reassuring word from her. Georgiana ran forward and embraced him, ignoring the wave of dizziness that came from moving too quickly, and by the time she released him, Hawke had quietly returned to the bedroom.

"Edward, this is quite a surprise! How have you come to be in Paris?"

"I had meant it to be even more of a surprise, but I see you are taking caution in a strange city, which is wise. I should have thought of it, and not attempted to call in a way that might distress you. Is Matthew out?"

"Yes, he is, and we have been taking greater care for caution of late," Georgiana said, motioning for him to take a seat with her. "I do not think you will have heard yet from my brother and sister that Mr. Wickham is alive, and here in Paris. It seems he deserted the army, and found his way here."

Edward did not look entirely shocked by the news. "I had always thought that a possibility. Not, particularly, that he should surface in Paris, but that he would desert and abandon his responsibilities. Waterloo was quite an opportunity to do so. But how has this been cause for caution on your part? Has he imposed himself on you?"

Georgiana sighed, and said that he had, and then told him in more detail of both of their encounters with Mr. Wickham – leaving out, of course, all of her dreams. When she had finished, Edward looked nearly as furious as Matthew had been, and said:

"Well, I expect your brother will be pleased to know he granted his consent to a man who would threaten Wickham with a sword, but still, that must have been very distressing for you."

"I cannot deny that it was, although I have not written Fitzwilliam about it, and I hope you will not, either. I do not wish to worry him. The moment was frightening, but it has passed, and I believe Matthew scared Mr. Wickham well enough that he shall not return to bother either of us."

"I hope that is the case," Edward said, not looking entirely convinced that Fitzwilliam should not be told of the event.

"Let us speak of other things," Georgiana said. "You still have not told me how you came to be in Paris."

"It is certain that the peace treaty will include an army of occupation," he said. "I would not have thought I qualified, but it seems that so long as I am able to write, I am of some use at present, and so I was encouraged to return to duty here. I harbour no illusions that this can continue to be my life's career, anymore – I cannot even load a gun, and will be of little use in actual war. But I am happy enough to earn my pay here for now, until my future is a little more decided."

Georgiana gazed at him with sympathy, and was glad she had not told him that Matthew was absent because he had gone off to a gunsmith's shop. "What are you considering, for your future beyond the army?"

"It is not so much what I am considering as what is being considered for me," Edward said. "There is fairly serious correspondence between my parents and Lady Catherine, that I should marry Anne."

"Marry Anne de Bourgh?"

"It surprises you as it surprised me, when it was first put to me. But you must admit, there is a great deal of sense in it. I must marry an heiress; Anne must marry someone sensitive to her condition. Rosings has not had the returns it could for some years now, and I believe I could set it to rights, if I were to live there full-time and give instructions to the steward that could not be countermanded by my aunt. Thankfully, it has a dower house, so Lady Catherine would establish her own household there."

Georgiana had always been sympathetic to Anne de Bourgh. While Georgiana had by her father's account been born a sickly baby, she had recovered and soon gained a quite healthy constitution. Anne, meanwhile, had been Lady Catherine's only healthy infant, but had succumbed to ongoing sickness throughout her life. But Georgiana found herself now far more sympathetic to Edward, who seemed to be very well convinced of the sense of marrying her, and it pained Georgiana – who had married for love – to think about it.

"Do you know what Anne thinks, of the possible arrangement?"

"She and I have written each other of it – I am thankful that we are cousins, for I know most people in our situation do not have such a luxury. Anne likes the idea of being more free from her mother's influence; she has always longed to try the waters at Bath, and sea-bathing, to see if they might improve her health, but Lady Catherine will not allow it. And she is very realistic in knowing that she cannot bear a child; as long as I do not risk her life by requiring her to share the marriage bed, she is open to my – uhemm, seeking comfort – elsewhere."

"You are considering taking a mistress before the marriage is even arranged?"

"I forget that you are a married woman, Georgiana, and not an innocent, anymore."

No, Georgiana reflected, she was certainly no longer an innocent, and almost certainly carrying her own child. She determined she should wait to tell him of that, though, for she wished to know more about this possible marriage to Anne de Bourgh, and news of her pregnancy should most certainly take them away from that topic.

"Anyway," Edward continued, "the matter is far from settled. Alice is pregnant again – I do not believe you will have had that news, yet."

"I had not – that is wonderful news."

"If she has a boy, I expect things will move quickly. If it is another girl, that will complicate matters."

Lady Alice Fitzwilliam, the wife of Edward's elder brother, Andrew, had borne two very healthy young girls in their three years of marriage, and so the family had every expectation that at some point, a boy, who would be heir to the earldom of Brandon, would be born, but certainly this next child's being a boy would make them all rest easier. If Alice never did have a boy, and Edward married Anne, who could not be expected to have an heir, the earldom would die out with Andrew, or Edward, whichever of the brothers died last, unless Anne died young – which was a distinct possibility, Georgiana morbidly admitted to herself – and Edward was able to remarry and father a son.

Such a line of reasoning led Georgiana necessarily to her own situation, and the thought that she herself was married to a baronet.

"I had not even thought about an heir," she murmured, only aware after she had done it that she had placed her hand over her belly.

"Georgiana, is anything the matter?" Edward asked, looking at her with a good degree of concern.

"Nothing is the matter, I just – Lady Alice is not the only person in our family newly with child," she said. "I am, as well."

"So soon?" Edward said, looking quite shocked at her news.

"It is my understanding that it only takes once," Georgiana said, blushing furiously.

"Of course," Edward laughed. "Congratulations, cousin. I am certain you will be a wonderful mother."

"Thank you, Edward."

"Have you given any more thought to where you shall settle? I will confess that Lady Catherine is very vexed that you and Matthew have not purchased a home yet."

"Yes, 'the baronetcy must have a seat,'" Georgiana said, quoting her aunt. "She has written to me about it as well, quite vehemently. And no, we have not. We still have quite a bit of time to make our decisions."

She would not admit it to Edward, but Georgiana thought they were very far from purchasing a home; she had not even yet convinced Matthew to set up a carriage. It would come eventually, she thought, and until that time, Pemberley would always be there for them, but she was glad to learn she was not the only one who thought things could be settled more quickly than they were likely to be.

"Ah, well, I am sure you are enjoying Paris too much to turn your minds to such things. And I must admit a certain delight in that which vexes my possible future mother-by-law."

Edward stayed for some time, hoping that he might catch Matthew upon his return; in their brief acquaintance together, the two had become fast friends on the basis of their shared military backgrounds. When Lady Walcott was finally announced, however, he took his leave after the briefest of pleasantries, although promising to call frequently on them.

Matthew returned much later, carrying a case from the gunsmith and having been talked into stopping to drink a few tankards of champagne by Sir John and Mr. Roberts, and looking rather guilty that he had been gone for so long. Georgiana assured him she did not mind, and surprised him with the news of Edward's having called. He reacted with dismay at having missed Edward, although certainly they would all meet frequently in the future, and Georgiana shared with him all the news that Edward had imparted, finding that he was, like her, most struck by the negotiations for Edward to marry Anne.

"I feel for him, poor fellow," Matthew said. "And yet I cannot help but be thankful to not be in his place. I suppose I could have been, if I had not been in a position to be able to win my own fortune."

"I do not think so – I would have had enough that we should have been able to live fairly well."

"Ah, yes, but would your brother have consented to such a match? And would you have believed me sincere in my attentions, if I had no fortune?"

"I believe he would have. He indicated to me early on that I was free to marry for love, although he encouraged me not to fall in love with a chimney sweep if I could help it."

Matthew laughed. "Well, I suppose I now know where I rank, as better than a chimney sweep and George Wickham."

Georgiana smiled, and considered his second question. She had been pursued by three men who _were_ only interested in her fortune, and even then, knowing that Matthew was clearly not interested in her only for her dowry, it still had taken them a very long time to admit their feelings for each other.

"As to whether I could have believed you sincere in your affections – I believe so, but I think it would have taken a very long time. Longer, even, than it did take us. But I believe your sincerity would have won out, in the end."

"I hope that it would have, as well, although I am glad that we do not need to test out that scenario," he said. "I feel very fortunate to have married for love."


	10. Part 1, Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

When the carriage containing Darcy and Mary finally arrived at Pemberley, Elizabeth was the only person able to come out to greet them, aside from Mr. Parker, Pemberley's longstanding butler. Bess had been exceedingly fussy that morning, and they had all been taking turns at the pianoforte, playing to keep her calm, so that when Mr. Parker announced the carriage, only Elizabeth had been able to slip out.

Darcy exited first, and then assisted Mary down. No sooner did Mary have both half boots on the ground than she said, "I shall go to the music room immediately," and with a determined look on her face, and a thick sheaf of music under her arm, set out thither.

Elizabeth smiled, watching her go, and Darcy said: "She has been most eager to provide her assistance."

"Indeed, I believe it must be rather like a dream for Mary, that her playing should prove so necessary."

The carriage pulled away, and Elizabeth found that they were most unexpectedly alone there in the drive, although Mr. Parker was likely just inside, waiting to open the door for them. Elizabeth took the opportunity to step closer to Darcy and tilt her head up for a kiss, and then an embrace.

"I missed you," she said, certain that her tone indicated just how much it was so.

"And I you," he said. "You look very well."

"I _feel_ enormous, and with the knowledge that I shall only grow larger still."

"Yes, I believe that is usually how it goes, when one has a child."

"Fitzwilliam Darcy, sometimes I regret that I taught you to tease so well," she said.

"You could not help it, even if you tried. Someone who is by nature so good at teasing must necessarily teach those close to her, so long as they are receptive to the teaching."

"You were not always so receptive, but you have certainly made up for it since we have been married."

"Well, allow me to make some manner of apology for it," he said, reaching into his jacket, and pulling out a jeweller's case, which Elizabeth by now very well knew meant their jewellers in London had finished resetting another piece from the Darcy family jewels. "I had thought to give this to you later, but since we are unexpectedly alone, I cannot resist."

The jewels this time were garnets, set quite exquisitely by Hadley's into a necklace and earrings. Elizabeth found herself a little surprised that there was not some additional piece with the set – Lady Anne Darcy's penchant for more substantial jewellry had meant that usually what began as a necklace and earrings were turned into necklace, earrings, and hair clips, or a bracelet, or brooch.

"This must have begun life as a simpler piece," Elizabeth commented.

"What do you mean?"

"Usually they have enough left over to create some additional piece. Is it you that suggests what that piece should be?"

"It is not – I leave Mr. Hadley to do as he pleases, particularly now that he knows how well you have liked his work. I only told him in the beginning that I thought you would prefer more delicate and refined pieces, and indicated some in the shop that aligned with what I thought your preferences would be."

"I do, I like his work very well indeed, these pieces included," she said, kissing him again. "Thank you. Now you must be tired; come inside and change, and I shall meet you in our sitting room, and tell you of some news I received while you were gone."

She took up his arm as they began their walk inside, and he said, hesitantly, "Is this news of yours good, or bad?"

Generally when such a question is asked, an answer should be immediately forthcoming. Yet Elizabeth had no ready answer for him. It likely would have been for the best for Lydia, if Mr. Wickham had remained presumed dead. Yet could it really be considered bad news that a man who had been thought dead was in fact alive?

"I hardly know," Elizabeth said, finally.

"You hardly know? Then you must not keep me in suspense. Let us go upstairs and sit, but I shall change later."

Elizabeth could sense his concern as they made their way up the broad entrance-hall stairs, and over to the wing which housed their bedchambers and the private sitting room that connected them. When they were in that room, and seated, she said, simply:

"George Wickham is alive."

"Ah, now I see why you could not tell me whether it was good news, or bad. He has written to Lydia, then?"

"No, unfortunately. Georgiana and Matthew encountered him in Paris. She did not know you would be away from Pemberley, and wrote to us of it."

"Georgiana! Is she – may I see the letter?" his words came out in a rush of concern, and Elizabeth was glad she had succeeded in having this conversation here, where she might readily go and get the letter from the secretary in her room, where she had housed it for safekeeping.

"I will go and get the letter," she said, soothingly. "But you must be assured that she does not seem to have been affected by the encounter."

Elizabeth moved as quickly as her current state would allow, in retrieving the letter, and giving it over to him. He was silent for awhile as he read, and then finally said:

"I suppose this is the sort of thing that we should have suspected of him, and I wish deeply that he could have resurfaced somewhere else, where he and Georgiana would not have crossed paths. She has not seen him since Ramsgate."

"She is quite a different young lady now than she was then, Darcy. She has married well, and for love, and I hope that Wickham is little but a bad memory, for her."

"I hope so, as well," Darcy said, doubtfully.

* * *

Mary Bennet finished Mozart's Twelve Variations on "Ah vous dirai-je, Maman" with some measure of triumph, for she had arrived in the music room to find little Bess fussing, and Jane plodding away at "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and now, happily, the baby was sound asleep. Mary had included this song with the music she had brought, thinking it was quite suited for playing to a baby, and was pleased to see that she was correct, and that the baby was better placated by this more sophisticated rendering of the song she had been hearing so frequently over the last week or so.

How strange it had been, to receive the letter summoning her back to Pemberley, where her skills on the pianoforte were desperately needed. There was something very pleasing about knowing that her playing was not only appreciated, but necessary, and then to come in and take Jane's place at the very fine pianoforte and calm the baby in less than a quarter-hour's time, seemed to her perhaps a little heroic.

It was not as though she was what most people would consider a hero, someone like Captain Stanton, out fighting French naval ships, but still, she did feel herself a bit of a heroine in the situation, and rather liked it. The thought of Captain Stanton, however, made her blush. Mary had no feelings towards him aside from familial friendship, but thinking of Captain Stanton necessarily led her thoughts to his brother, David Stanton, and her feelings towards him were _quite_ unsettled.

In her more honest moments with herself, she knew that while she would have come to Pemberley anyway – she could hardly say no, when her sister had written in such a flattering way to ask – but she had come eagerly because it would put her within less than fifty miles of his living in Wincham. She still could have no expectation that she would meet with him while here, but Elizabeth had particularly noticed how much time Mary had spent with him, in the time leading up to Georgiana and Matthew's marriage, and indicated they should look for opportunities for the two of them to be in company together again, if it were at all possible, and that should be much easier if Mary was residing at Pemberley for a longer duration.

Mary had never expected herself to be like this, hoping deeply to be in company with a gentleman of her acquaintance. Of her sisters, Jane had been the one expected to make a great match, and had; Elizabeth had entirely surprised them all by marrying Mr. Darcy; Lydia had not wholly surprised Mary, at least, by eloping; and Kitty had, as should be expected of her, become betrothed to a man who wore a uniform, although Mary did think she was much more sensible now than she had used to be, and would marry a quite respectable man.

Of all of them, Mary was the one who had seemed destined for spinsterhood, unless her idle hope to meet a country clergyman she could be brought to marry should happen. She had a dowry, now – her brothers Charles and Fitzwilliam had given her and Kitty each five thousand pounds – but she did not like the things that were required of making a match, nor most of the men she would have met in the places where it was expected matches would be made. Mary was not one for flirtations in drawing rooms, and she did not care for balls and dancing. She had come up with her parents and Kitty in time for Georgiana's wedding, and Bess's birth, and had been content to quietly blend in to the background of the ever-growing house party, unless she was invited to exhibit in the music room.

To her surprise, however, she had found herself accompanied there in the background by Mr. Stanton, who was quiet, like she was, although eventually they had begun talking to each other. From there, it was not long before they began seeking each other out for conversation, and Mary began to realise there was no one else she enjoyed talking with so much as him. For so long, she had sought out someone who would be willing to do something so simple as to discuss Fordyce's sermons with her, without placating her opinions, and he had done that, at great length. Then he had followed this by recommending a few other volumes for her to read, and they had eventually enlisted Mr. Darcy to help see if any of them were located within Pemberley's library, and, given the vastness of its collection, they were pleased to find that two of them were.

Mary had read them both, and had brought them back with her so that they could be returned. Yet what she really wanted was to be able to discuss them with the man who had recommended them, and that she could not do. She could not write to him, and this frustrated her a great deal, for she suspected they could have carried on a very extensive correspondence. No, her only hope was that they should find themselves in company together again, and this was the hope which had brought her to Pemberley with the deepest anticipation, and, if she was fully honest with herself, the knowledge that she had met the country clergyman she could not only be brought to marry, but might very well find herself in love with.

* * *

There was a matter of some delicacy to be settled that evening, when Sarah had finished helping Elizabeth into her dressing gown. In Darcy's absence, she had been sleeping in her own bedchamber, and was not sure if she should continue to do the same. They had agreed to give up marital relations upon his return, but she was unsure whether she wished to also give up sleeping in the same bed as he, and of his feelings on the matter.

She decided that regardless of how their sleeping arrangements should be settled until her confinement, she certainly would wish him goodnight at the least, and made her way into his bedchamber. Darcy looked perhaps a little surprised, but pleased at her entrance, saying, "I was not sure whether to expect you, given our conversation before I left."

"I am not sure whether I will stay, but I thought I would at the least say goodnight."

"Do you wish to stay? You are not doubtful of my ability to hold my hands to myself, are you?"

"I am not doubtful of that," she said, smilingly. "I know if you set your mind to it, you would be able to. I am not certain of how torturous it would be, although to answer your first question, I do wish to stay – I've missed you terribly."

"If you keep teasing me with that look on your face, it would be very torturous indeed."

"I was not aware there was a particular look on my face. How horrid."

"There nearly always is, although it does not follow that it is horrid. If I did not find you beautiful when you were teasing, you can hardly imagine that I would have asked you to marry me, twice."

"If I kiss you right now, do you think we will be able to hold firm to our resolution?"

"I think it would be a worthwhile test of our ability to do so."

Elizabeth needed no further convincing, and they shared one of those lingering, private kisses which are only for the bedchamber, and afterwards stood there awhile in each others' arms. Darcy murmured, "I've missed you terribly as well, my darling Elizabeth," and without any further discussion they both got into bed, although Elizabeth was careful to keep to her own side.

"How did you find things at Longbourn?" she asked.

"I told you all of it at dinner."

"Yes, but with the rest of our family there. I was not certain if there was anything you held back for the sake of Jane and Mary."

"No, nothing. I will own that I am glad your letter regarding Wickham did not arrive while I was there, however. I can hardly imagine what sort of reaction it will provoke, but certainly it will not be a peaceful one."

"Very true. I do not know whether Lydia will be angry, or heartbroken, or perhaps both," Elizabeth said. "Poor Lydia; her punishment has been far greater than her mistake."

"I am inclined to agree with you," he said. "I cannot believe I would come to wish a man dead, but I would rather he died at Waterloo than live and shirk his responsibilities as he does now. He is lower even than I thought, and I had already thought him the lowest of men."

"I suppose the only good thing to come of it so far as Lydia is concerned is that my mother will feel compelled to buy her new dresses, as I am sure she has dyed a great many of hers black, if not all of them," Elizabeth said. "And before you say anything, Darcy, if you are bothered by the look on my face right now, I shall turn over and face away from you."

"Please do, madam. You are a very cruel creature, but I love you anyway."


	11. Part 1, Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

After another week of dreamless nights, Georgiana was beginning to feel she was safe of them, so long as they did not see Mr. Wickham again, for doing so always seemed to prompt them. She wondered if he had fled Paris upon being recognised, although she supposed he would have to somehow acquire the funds to do so.

Although she had no stomach for breakfast, Georgiana still preferred to sit with Matthew as he ate his, taking little sips of her tea so as not to aggravate her ill feelings. They were thus when Matthew said: "There is something Sir John told me of, last night, which I wanted to speak with you about."

"Yes, what did he say?"

"He said that once the treaty is signed, despatches will need to go to many of our ambassadors, with new instructions. He suggested that by calling on the Admiralty at the right time, I might have better hope of a command – particularly a frigate command – as my leave runs out."

Matthew had no need of a command, frigate or otherwise. They could live quite easily off of their fortune, or perhaps even purchase an estate which should provide them an income. Yet Georgiana had known even before they were married that this was not something she would suggest. Since, she had seen with what an attentive eye he had examined the ship they made their passage here on, she had seen him reading his pamphlets during most of his leisure time, and she knew she could no more ask him to give up the navy than he could ask her to give up the pianoforte. So instead, she said:

"You do not think having two earls inquiring after you, as well as the Prince Regent indicating you should have the Caroline again, to be sufficient in ensuring you are given a frigate command?"

"You believe Lord Brandon will inquire after me, as well?" he asked, for the other earl Georgiana referenced, his own uncle, would undoubtedly do so, as he had in the past.

"I believe my aunt will remind him to, if he does not think to do so on his own," Georgiana said. "You very much endeared yourself to her in finding passage for them to go and search for Edward, after Waterloo."

"I did not do so for that purpose."

"I know you did not, and so does she, which is why she will do it gladly," Georgiana said. "But let us return to what you said about calling on the Admiralty at the right time. Do you wish to return to England?"

He looked relieved that she had asked it, and said, "If you do not mind. I know we did not set a date for our return, and I should hate to make you leave before you are ready."

"I would be ready to return. I have enjoyed Paris, but I find I have had my fill of it, and there are things about England I begin to miss."

"I feel the same way. Since we are in agreement, I shall begin inquiring about our passage back," he said, smiling. His face then fell, however. "There is one thing that I wish we had been able to see settled before leaving. Madame Durand's legal case looks as though it shall take some time to be completed."

"She has Monsieur Laquerre working on it now. Certainly he can see it settled."

"I hope so, but I should much prefer to be able to check on him periodically and ensure he is making progress. After all, we are only just acquainted with him. Perhaps Mr. Roberts will do so, although he is not of much longer acquaintance."

"You are forgetting that we have a close acquaintance here in town whom we may trust thoroughly."

"Edward! You are right, I should have thought of him. Do you think he would be willing to lend his assistance?"

"I feel certain he would, but let us ask him the next time he calls."

* * *

Edward called that very morning, and his assistance was requested, and granted, for he too thought it honourable to look after Captain Durand's widow. They all agreed to call on her the day following, and made their way there in another hired carriage.

Madame Durand was sewing a jacket for her son when they arrived, out of what appeared to be some of the fabric the Stantons had given her. She greeted them in a friendly manner, and was surprised to learn they had brought a third with them.

"I am having the whole of English military to call on me, am I?" she said, although smilingly, so that they could see it was but a poorly worded jest.

"Good day, Madame Durand," Georgiana said. "This is my cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam."

"Please to meet you, Colonel Fitzwilliam," Madame Durand said.

"And you, madame. I am very sorry for your loss."

"I thank you," Madame Durand said, nodding and indicating they should all be seated.

"We wished to introduce Colonel Fitzwilliam to you because we will be leaving Paris in a week or so," Matthew said. "He will assist you with your case, and anything else you should need, once we are gone."

"That is much kind of you, Colonel Fitzwilliam, when you have less connected to me even than Sir Matthew and Lady Stanton."

"It is nothing," Edward said. "Were I better able to seek out those affected by my own role in the war, I should wish to do the same for them, but since I cannot, I would gladly assist someone connected with my family."

"Yes, on battlefield it is much more mêlée, all the people shooting at all the people," Madame Durand said.

The accounts Georgiana had read, and heard first-hand, of the Jupiter's battle against the Polonais, had made it sound like it must have seemed very much a mêlée, at least for those on the deck of the Polonais. Yet this was hardly a thing she would correct Madame Durand on. If the poor widow had a gentler notion of how the battle had been, Georgiana would let her continue to think it.

"Mêlée is very much how it is, Madame Durand," Edward said. "Now let me ensure I understand the essentials of your case. You had land which was willed to you by your father?"

"My father did not have will, or if he did, it has not been appeared. He was taken up and killed in revolution."

"I am very sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. So my father left no will, but I have no brothers or sisters living, so it seem the land will belong to me. No one make claim on it, but nor can I sell it, with no proof it is mine. Those lands should have worth of six thousand of your pounds, I think. Enough so I can live more comfortable than this."

"Well, I promise you I shall do everything I may to be of assistance, while I am stationed here."

"Again I thank you, Colonel Fitzwilliam. And to you, my English friends. You have been much generous."

Georgiana and Matthew both nodded, and they all took their leave, promising to call at least once more before they left Paris. When they had returned to the carriage, Edward said:

"You both neglected to mention how beautiful Madame Durand is."

"Is that a problem?" Matthew asked. "You need not take on the commission if it will cause you any discomfort."

"No, it is not a problem," Edward said. "I know an impossibility when I see one. Someone so beautiful as her should have no difficulty finding a whole husband, and one with more fortune than I, when her mourning is over. And by that time, I will more likely than not be married to Anne. No, I mentioned it only because it shall make it far more pleasant to call on her. I know my expectations: I have become quite adept at admiring a pretty face, while knowing I may do nothing but admire."


	12. Part 1, Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Upon Darcy's return to Pemberley, he and Elizabeth had sat down together and determined the inquiries for a wet nurse to be placed in the registry offices in Matlock and Derby. This was not a typical means of hiring a servant at Pemberley; usually, when the estate had a rare opening, word of mouth would see at least a handful of qualified applicants applying to Mr. Parker or Mrs. Reynolds well before it could be advertised in any other way.

None on the Pemberley staff knew of a wet nurse seeking employment, however, nor did anyone in the Darcys's social circle. Much of the neighbourhood consisted of older families well past the need of having such a person on staff, and of the families with younger children, none knew of someone who should be coming available. This, then, left the registry offices – the same way Charles and Jane had found poor Mrs. Padgett – as their only option.

Fortunately, they received word that applicants at the Matlock office had expressed interest in the position, and following a rather aggravating several rounds of correspondence, it was arranged that Elizabeth and Darcy should meet with the applicants and interview them. They set out for Matlock, stopping in Lambton on the way to see if there had been any new post, which there had – a letter from their aunt, Ellen Fitzwilliam, the Countess of Brandon, who was called Lady Ellen amongst her family.

Elizabeth opened the letter eagerly; it had been some time since she had received any correspondence from Lady Ellen, who was by far her favourite aunt of those she had gained by marriage, although this was hardly a competition, given the other aunt was Lady Catherine.

"She writes that Edward has gone to Paris, to be part of what is expected to be an army of occupation."

"Must everyone go to Paris?"

"I believe only three members of our family are there, now, Darcy – four if you count Wickham, which I am not sure that I do – so that is a bit of an exaggeration. Although I have not yet heard back from Lydia, and who knows what she shall do."

"Lady Ellen did have Georgiana's direction for her hotel, did she not? I should hate for Edward to be there and not know where to call on her and Matthew."

"Yes, I sent it to her."

Elizabeth read on, until she reached the next piece of news. "Oh, Lady Alice is with child again!"

"Is she? I am sure they must be overjoyed at the news. Godsend it will be a boy – they still have ample time, if it is not, but I know it would make them all easier at mind."

Elizabeth sighed, and made to continue reading the letter.

"Do not turn my words into an indictment of you, Elizabeth, or a child who has not yet been born. You know Alice and Andrew are in quite a different situation, given the earldom must be inherited through the male line."

Elizabeth felt the comfort of his words, and then said, "Thank you, I believe I needed to hear that. I cannot help but think of how my parents must have felt each time my mother was with child, and how they must have reacted to each of us, upon learning she was a girl."

"And yet things have turned out quite fine for you all, even with nothing but girls. Yes, Mr. Collins will take over Longbourn, eventually, but at least four of you will be married by then."

"It did not always seem so," Elizabeth said. "My mother had great fear of us all being forced to starve in the hedgerows."

"That is nonsense. You cannot be _in_ a hedgerow. Beside a hedgerow, perhaps, but not in one. And why, of all places, if you were forced into starvation, should you choose to starve there?"

He said it very matter-of-factly, so that she was fairly certain it was not in jest, but it still made Elizabeth burst out into much-needed laughter.

* * *

The Matlock registry office was not a separate entity, but instead a side business of an attorney there whom Darcy sometimes used, for matters which needed to be handled more locally than could be done by his London attorneys. They were, therefore, greeted very cordially by the attorney upon entering his offices, but then shown into a side room, where a clerk indicated he had received two strong applications for their position, and both women were waiting to speak with them.

The side room had a tall counter, where, Elizabeth presumed, those interested in jobs came to see what had been listed in the office. It also had a small sitting area, which could be curtained off; they were shown there, and the curtain drawn, presumably for privacy, although nothing about it felt very private to Elizabeth.

Their first applicant was Mrs. Beecham, whom the clerk said had been the wet nurse for Oakerthorpe for some years, but owing to that village having no babes now, nor any foreseen in the future, she was seeking employment with a private family. The clerk drew the curtain aside, and Elizabeth's first impression of Mrs. Beecham could not help but be that she was slovenly. Ashamed that this was the first description that jumped to her mind, Elizabeth examined her more closely to see if it was something beyond the woman's sagging bosom which caused her to think so. In doing so, she took in more closely Mrs. Beecham's dress, which was dirty, and torn in at least one visible place, and knew she could never allow someone who could take so little care of her dress to care for their child, particularly when it had been indicated that she sought work because she had no children under her care, currently, so it was not as though she should not have time to wash and mend her dress.

Elizabeth feared that they would still have to go through an extensive interview with the woman, so as not to be impolite, but nor could she think of anything to ask, and she was grateful that Darcy began the interview.

"Hello, Mrs. Beecham. I am Mr. Darcy, and this is Mrs. Darcy. How long have you served as a wet nurse?"

"Five and ten years, sir, alwus in Oakerthorpe. I did na want to leave me place there, sir, but t'aint no babes, and I can na go so long without nursin' as I 'spect t'will be takin'."

"How many children would you estimate you have nursed?"

"Oh, sir, nigh on five and seventy, I shun reckon."

"Thank you, Mrs. Beecham, that will be all. We are seeking someone who has had a more limited clientele, but we thank you for your time," Darcy said, quite surprisingly handing a few coins over to the woman. "Here is for your trouble to come here today. And you would do best to mend that dress before you interview again."

"Thank ye sir, thank ye kindly, but I dinna see where the dress needs mending."

"The hem," Darcy said, simply, his tone indicating dismissal.

Mrs. Beecham glanced down at her hem in consternation, then made a hasty, embarrassed curtsey, and slipped out from the curtain.

"Did you just pay that woman so as to shorten our interview?" Elizabeth whispered, although she could not say she was upset that he was done it; indeed, she was rather glad of it.

"I did. I could never countenance hiring her, nor could you, I expect," he said, glancing at her to ascertain he was correct. "She must have experienced some degree of difficulty to come here, from Oakerthorpe. Given the choice between making her think that the difficulty of the journey was worth the while because she was seriously being considered for the position, when she was not, or paying for her troubles and saving our own time, I should rather pay for her troubles."

It was a strange philosophy, Elizabeth thought, to compensate for lost hope, but she could not fault it; he was right, she thought, that it was better than giving false hope to compensate for a journey that was not so easy to make for someone of Mrs. Beecham's station.

The clerk, unfortunately, was not the recipient of similar kindness, when he stepped inside the curtained area. He must have had some idea of what was to come, based on the shortness of the interview, for he held a great degree of wariness in his countenance.

"May I ask why that woman was brought out all the way from Oakerthorpe when we were very clear that we did not wish to share our child's nurse with more than ten others, much less half of Derbyshire?" Darcy asked.

"I understand your concern, Mr. Darcy, it is just that such candidates as you look for are not easy to find, and – "

"If they are not easy to find, I would rather you be honest about it, and write to us as such. Do you think the master and mistress of Pemberley not to have better things to do, than travel to Matlock to meet with candidates who do not meet our qualifications?"

"No sir, of course not, sir."

"Is the next candidate within the qualifications we asked for?"

"Very nearly, sir. Mrs. Devaney has nursed seventeen children, but aside from that she fits exactly what you have asked for."

"Since we are here, then, we shall see her. But in the future I expect my instructions to be complied with exactly. Are we understood?"

"Yes, of course, Mr. Darcy, perfectly so, sir."

Mrs. Devaney was shown in, and immediately showed herself to be someone more suitable to be hired on at Pemberley, and for such a position. No one would call her figure slim, and her hair was rather greyer than Elizabeth would have expected for such a role, but she was well-kept, and very prompt and proper in making her curtsey.

"Hello, Mrs. Devaney. I am Mr. Darcy, and this is Mrs. Darcy," Darcy said to her. "How long have you served as a wet nurse?"

"One and twenty years, sir, and I hope to serve at least five more, sir, 'till my boys are fully established in the world."

"You have sons, then?"

"Yes, sir, two of 'em. Jack's been working in a manufactory these two years now, and John only just joined him. My husband's been gone these two and twenty years, now, and it's only been me and me boys, since."

"Have you always been employed with private families?"

"Very nearly always, sir. When my husband first passed, I took in several children in the village of Holmewood, where we lived at the time, for to make ends meet. After that, though, I sought private employment, and I've had it ever since."

"Who were you employed with most recently?"

"The Johnsons, sir, of Matlock. Two girls I nursed, with them. Sweetest little things, they is, but they've grown very nearly too old to nurse, and Mrs. Johnson says I should think of moving on, for she's not yet in the family way."

Elizabeth had, until now, been silent during the interview, but sensing that Mrs. Devaney, although perhaps older than they might have hoped for, seemed otherwise a rather suitable candidate, now asked her: "What made you choose, to become a wet nurse?"

"I don't know it was a choice I thought on, ma'am. My husband died, bless his soul, and I had to support two boys while still in mourning. That I could nurse was my best way to earn a living."

Elizabeth could not help but feel her stomach turned by Mrs. Devaney's response, although now that she heard it, she expected it was a fairly common reason. She had been hoping for some manner of enthusiasm about caring for children, but if this was something Mrs. Devaney had felt at some point, perhaps it had dissipated after nursing seventeen of them.

"And do you find that all – functions – as it should – after one and twenty years of nursing?" Darcy asked. So awkward was his question that, although she saw the necessity of asking it, Elizabeth could not help but steal a glance over at him, and saw that he was utterly discomfited by it.

"Of course, Mr. Darcy, or I should not be thinking to apply. Allow me to provide a sample for your inspection."

Darcy looked utterly horrified at the thought of it, while Elizabeth felt a full wave of that horror wash over her. Even in the abstract, she did not like the idea of another woman nursing her own child – even if she were to die – and to think of inspecting this woman's milk, as though she were a cow for purchase, turned Elizabeth's stomach in a way that had not been done since early in her pregnancy.

"Pardon me," she said, rising. "I am feeling unwell – I believe I need a little air. It was good to meet you, Mrs. Devaney."

She slipped out of the curtain and through the door to the main office, and then out of the place entirely, making her way as near as she could to the Derwent, and still remain in sight of the office. Certainly Darcy would be emerging from there with concern, as soon as he could conclude the interview. The sound of the river soothed her a little, but was not nearly enough to fully ease her mind.

True to her thoughts, Elizabeth turned back from the river, and saw her husband exiting the lawyer's office with a great deal of haste. When he had reached where she was standing, he reached out and grasped her hand, and said, in a most worried tone: "Are you ill? Should we have them fetch Dr. Alderman? He lives just down the road."

"I am not ill in that sense, my dear. I just could not stay and listen to any more of the interview. Did she – did she display her milk for you?"

"She did not." Darcy looked as disgusted as she was at the thought of it. "We ended things fairly rapidly after your departure. She hopes you will feel better quickly, with some air."

"I do not know that I shall feel better so long as we must continue trying to hire this position. I do not know how other ladies hand over their children so easily."

"Most ladies are more selfish than you are, Elizabeth."

"Jane is not selfish."

"No, of course not, but I expect she is more easily convinced by others that having another woman nurse her child is for the best. As well, she and Charles seem to have found the best-qualified wet nurse in the county."

"I am becoming increasingly aware of that," Elizabeth said. "Perhaps I was wrong to dissuade you from seeking a wet nurse in town. I will admit I do not know that I have the stomach to travel to Derby for additional interviews."

"Then do not do so. Let me go there and do the first set of interviews, and if there is a candidate better than Mrs. Devaney, you may return for a second interview with her."

"What if there is no candidate better than Mrs. Devaney?"

"We could do worse, I suppose. She is older than I would have expected, but I am more concerned at not knowing who these Johnsons are. She offered letters of recommendation, but I do not know any of the families who recommended her."

"Can we truly settle for someone neither of us is so enthusiastic for? This is not a new housemaid we are seeking, but a woman who will care for and possibly feed our child."

"We may have to. Think on it, Elizabeth. I know you wish to nurse the baby yourself, and our nurse shall merely be a plan in case – in case of other events. If that is the case, and we promised Mrs. Devaney five year's employment, as was her wish – regardless of whether she was required to nurse the child or not – I should think that quite a good situation for her. We may not find another woman who could be convinced to accept possibly giving up the source of her livelihood, so that she could take the position we offer."

Elizabeth sighed. "I suppose you are right, but I cannot manage any enthusiasm for the idea, at present."

"Nor should you have to, my dear," he said, squeezing her hand. "Now you have had a far more trying day than you should have. Let us return home and save our concerns over this for another day."

* * *

Elizabeth had concerns the day following, but they had nothing to do with a wet nurse. In the post on this day was a letter from Kitty, which Elizabeth thought might be a response to her news regarding Mr. Wickham's being alive.

Elizabeth was handed the letter by Mr. Parker as she made her way to the music room, there to join Sarah, who had been playing for Mary and Bess. She took the letter in with her, finding her sister holding the baby and, at the same time, instructing Sarah on how to read the music.

In such a scene of busyness, Elizabeth was barely acknowledged by Mary, but given a more deferential nod by Sarah. Such an atmosphere was suitable for reading her letter, although she would have preferred Jane to be there, for her elder sister would have been as concerned as she was about what should be contained within, which was:

"My Dear Sister,

"My sister and mother are too distraught to write to you in response to your letter at present, and our father will not be troubled to do so with any urgency, but I thought you would want to hear from us as soon as possible.

"Lydia at first denied the truth of what you wrote. She thought that perhaps Georgiana had somehow mistaken another man for George Wickham, or for some other reason had made up this storey. I assured her that I have always known Georgiana to be most truthful, and that from Mr. Wickham's (I do not see why we should call him George – I have no desire to be familiar with such a man, even if he is family) long association with the Darcys, Georgiana must certainly have known him well enough to be able to clearly recognise him in Paris.

"Once she began to believe that it truly was Mr. Wickham that Georgiana and Captain Stanton had spoke to, and that he had been in Paris without sending for her, she became quite violently angry. I regret to tell you that some of the pieces of your favourite tea set here fell victim to her bout of anger, which lasted the better part of the day. Papa fortunately made her go outside once she began breaking things – I tried to go with her and help to console her, but she said I could not be of any help to her when my situation was so different.

"She said some very nasty things following this that I will not repeat, as thinking on them again brings me pain. You must know how the season I spent in London and my engagement to Captain Ramsey had such an influence on me (and I am forever grateful to you and Mr. Darcy for it). I have known for some time that Lydia and I cannot be so close as we once were, but still, I hate that the sister I was once so close to thinks these things of me.

"Anyway, she would only be consoled by my mother, and finally I believe she stopped being angry – at least in the same way she was – and since then she has seemed mostly sad, and bitter. She is at least able to come out of mourning, but she truly did love Mr. Wickham, and I believe her heart is broken by what he has done.

"I will admit a little jealousy of Mary to be at Pemberley instead of Longbourn, for this is not a happy place right now, with Lydia as she is, and papa realising he will have to support her as long as Mr. Wickham lives. I am not seeking an invitation, however. Captain Ramsey's latest indicated that if all goes well, he will be coming home within the month, and while Hertfordshire is not exactly near to Portsmouth, it is still much nearer than Derbyshire. I cannot wait to see him, and to finally be married!

"Please give my sisters and brothers my love. Missing you all very much is,

"CATHERINE BENNET (but soon to be RAMSEY!)"

Elizabeth finished reading with a mixture of emotions. She was glad Lydia had finally been brought to realise that Mr. Wickham had behaved in an unacceptable manner, although the heartbreak that must necessarily follow this realisation saddened Elizabeth. She had never understood how Lydia could love Mr. Wickham as she did, even when he treated her poorly, but also thought it for the best that Lydia had loved him; it was far preferable to her being miserable, as she was now.

And poor Kitty, who had changed so much for the better over the last year that she had changed into someone who could not be loved in the same way she had been by her younger sister. Indeed, from Kitty's letter, it sounded more like Lydia disliked her sister, or at the very least that she was jealous of Kitty's situation. Kitty had always followed after Lydia when they were younger; flirting with officers, spending more of her pin money than she ought on frivolous things, and if there was perhaps one good thing that had come out of Lydia's unfortunate marriage, it was that she had no longer been around to corrupt Kitty. Brought to Weymouth and then London to spend time in better company, Kitty had grown tremendously, taking up drawing and watercolours, and eventually even reading, although the latter came only once she had made the acquaintance of a naval officer and wished to gain greater knowledge of naval history. It was no longer a duty to invite Kitty to spend time with them; Elizabeth truly enjoyed her company, and felt her absence now.

"I suppose I should no longer call her Kitty; she always signs her letters Catherine, now, does she not?" Elizabeth murmured.

Mary overheard her, and asked what she had said, and what news was contained in the letter. Elizabeth told her of Lydia's reaction to Mr. Wickham's actions, but did not share the more private parts of Catherine's letter; Mary and Catherine had grown at least a bit closer, but Elizabeth was not certain if they were so close that Catherine would want these parts shared. If Catherine wished to do so, let her do it within her own correspondence to Mary.

Mary confirmed that Catherine's preference these days was to be referred to by her full name, and then said, "As for the rest, it is unfortunate, although I cannot say it is entirely surprising. A man who would tempt a young lady to live in sin, such as he did, is capable of a great measure of sin. Not that I absolve our sister of her own part in the matter; she knew full well what she was doing, when she ran away with him."

Elizabeth could not help but wonder what Mary would think if she knew that Georgiana, whom anyone who knew them both would certainly describe as more quiet and sensible than Lydia, had – at the same age – very nearly made the same mistake Mary censured her own sister for. Jane was right; they should put the blame more squarely in Wickham's quarter. Both young ladies, certainly, had been manipulated; Lydia had taken much longer to see the error of her actions, but it seemed she finally saw them now.

The matter of what to do with Lydia would now be what occupied correspondence between Pemberley and Longbourn. Kitty was correct in that she must be supported, and while he lived, it was natural that this support should fall to Mr. Bennet. As part of her marriage articles with Mr. Wickham, largely drawn up by Elizabeth's own husband, Lydia was to be allowed one hundred pounds per annum; certainly this would go to Lydia now, and not her husband, who could not attempt to claim it in any English court. This income should have been sufficient for Lydia to live, but Elizabeth's sister had never been what one would consider frugal, and Elizabeth suspected Lydia would be indulged by her mother so that the hundred pounds were easily exceeded every year.

"Someday, we shall have to support her," Elizabeth thought. "Unless she takes up as someone's mistress, which I suppose is entirely possible. I only hope she can be discreet about it."

* * *

**AN: **I know hedgerows is movie canon, not book canon, but the exchange in this chapter popped into my head, and I enjoyed it too much to take it out.


	13. Part 1, Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Even with child, Georgiana was, thankfully, not very affected by seasickness. They had boarded HMS Zephyr at Le Havre early in the morning, but unlike many of the other passengers, as the ship had got underway, she found herself feeling progressively better instead of worse.

The same could not be said for poor Hughes, who, as she had been on the journey to France, was wracked with a quite violent bout of sickness. Georgiana was glad they had taken this ship, a navy sloop, rather than the packet ship, where the captain might not have allowed them the courtesy of allowing a maid to lie prostrate on a cushion within his cabin, as Captain Gibson had.

Georgiana, having checked on Hughes again, was making her way back to the deck of the ship in the slightly stooped walk required of its low decks. When she finally rose upright at the companionway, the ship lurched violently, and she was forced to wait a moment to allow dizziness to pass before she could climb the steps. She did not like this constant lightheadedness, but it seemed that it was going to stay with her during the course of her pregnancy, and she was going to have to take care to compensate.

She found Matthew where she had left him, standing at the stern of the Zephyr, alternately looking down at the gently wobbling foam in the wake of the ship, and then up to examine the ship's rigging.

"Gibson is right, she is a crank little ship," he said, as much to himself as to her. "Whomever thought to name her Zephyr clearly had not sailed in her. How is Hughes?"

"Much the same," Georgiana said.

"Well, we are nearly there, so at least it shall not be much longer for her. You can see the Spithead anchorage, just up there."

He pointed, and Georgiana could see dozens of masts on the horizon. She watched eagerly as they came closer into view, for as they had made the passage over to France by way of Dover; this was her first opportunity to see Spithead, and then Portsmouth beyond it. Georgiana had never seen a naval ship much larger than the one she was on now, and as they drew closer, she was shocked at the size of the big ships of the line, looming over the little Zephyr.

"I wish the Jupiter and the Polonais were here instead of Plymouth, so that I might see them," Georgiana said.

"I cannot say that I share your wish – you would be shocked at the look of them, with their repairs incomplete."

"Still, I would have liked to get a sense of their relative differences in size."

"Ah, unfortunately I do not think the fleet will oblige you – fourth-rates like the Jupiter are rare. There is the Mars, however, and she is fairly comparable to the Polonais."

Georgiana looked at the ship he pointed to, and tried to imagine a smaller ship, one with 24 fewer guns, but she was distracted from her thoughts by the approach of Captain Gibson, who gave her a nod and then addressed her husband:

"Well, sir, what do you think? Is she not a crank, fussy little ship?" Captain Gibson called the ship crank and fussy with a degree of fondness that Matthew had not used, for after all the Zephyr _was_ still Captain Gibson's ship, crank and fussy though she might be.

The ship lurched heavily again, as though to prove Captain Gibson's statement, and Georgiana held tightly to the railing, marvelling at how both men could stand through it without holding on to anything.

"I cannot deny that she is," Matthew said.

"If I have time, I shall restow the hold in Portsmouth, and see if I can free her head a little bit more, although I am not sure how much it will help. Still, she is better than no command at all. Until Napoleon escaped I thought my promotion should prove quite useless."

"Indeed, I was happy to see my first lieutenant promoted, after the Polonais," Matthew said. "Yet now it is likely he will never see his own command, with the war over so quickly."

"Yes, you provide me with a good reminder that I should not brook so much pity as many of my fellow commanders," Captain Gibson said. "And things will not be so bad for me on shore. My family is already eager for me to give up the navy – since the death of my cousin, it seems I will inherit my uncle's estate, so they are all more concerned about what should happen if I get knocked on the head, than they used to be."

"That has never been a concern, in my family," said Matthew, drily.

"Ah yes, no shortage of gentlemen in the Stanton family, as I remember. Although you do have your own title to pass on, now – I give you joy of it, again."

Captain Gibson had already given Matthew joy of his victory and his baronetcy several times, and likely would again before they departed the ship. Now, however, he was distracted by the approach of a boat, which turned out to be the harbour pilot, and took his leave of them.

The sun had begun to set while Georgiana was checking on Hughes, and she commented on it now, for it was quite possibly the most spectacular sunset she had ever seen, the sky a great fiery red.

"It is quite beautiful," Matthew said.

"Are they always like this, at sea?"

"They are often beautiful, and benefit from the uninterrupted horizon," he said, "but I have not seen any quite like this. The redness is remarkable."

They drifted in slowly to the harbour, and Georgiana looked about eagerly, to finally see the place she had only heard described. Matthew was no less eager to show it to her, pointing out Southsea Castle, Spice Island, and then the Victory, moored there and looking more elegant than the other ships of her size. The Victory was a sharp contrast to the ship Matthew was most eager to show her, however.

"There she is – there is the Caroline," he said, pointing to a set of ships, tied up, side-by-side. "Third from the left."

Georgiana looked at the set of small ships he pointed to, all of them without their masts and looking quite faded and stumpy, and counted over to the third one from the left, which looked no more or less stumpy than the others. Georgiana had always longed to see this ship, the frigate Matthew had commanded for five years and held the utmost fondness for, and she could not help but feel disappointed by it, as she felt Matthew must be disappointed by how long it took her to say anything.

"I am so glad to finally have a chance to see her," Georgiana said, when she could think of nothing else. "It seems unfair that she should not go to sea when ships like the Zephyr are still in use."

"I do not disagree with you there, Georgiana, although I hope she shall have her chance soon enough."

There being no quay for the Zephyr to tie up to, Georgiana and Hughes had their first introduction to what Matthew and Captain Gibson called a bosun's chair, which was quite simply a plank of wood tied with rope on either side, onto which they were to sit and be lowered down into a boat. Georgiana liked to think that if she had not been wearing a dress, she might have clambered down the side of the ship as her husband and Hawke did, although there was something to be said for the sensation of swinging freely out over the water, before she was lowered down.

Hughes came after her, looking very pale and eager to be on shore, and they were rowed thither. Georgiana had never been to a town so dedicated to one purpose – there seemed to be officers in uniform everywhere, and even more seamen, many of them appearing to be drunk already, even in the twilight hour. A few of them made some manner of obeisance to her husband, usually bowing and saying, "good evnin', cap'n sir," and Matthew would not pass any of them by without asking how they did, so that what should have been a short walk to the George took them quite a long time.

They were to stay only overnight, it being too late to set out for London, and Georgiana was so exhausted by the time they came in and took a room that she cared little for the fineness of the apartment. She found herself rather more cross than was proper at their needing to hire a carriage to go on to London, and although she had determined she would not say anything of it until they were in town – for London would certainly be the best place to purchase the equipment and horses – she found she could not help herself.

Poor Hughes had made her apologies and retired early, still feeling the ill effects of her seasickness, which left Matthew to unlace Georgiana's stays before they retired.

"I hired the carriage for ten, tomorrow morning, so that we should depart after your illness is usually over," he said.

"Thank you. I only wish we were not going by hired carriage."

"I do not know how else you would wish to go to London; you might be able to travel so far on horseback, but I do not think myself up to it. And anyway, our horses are still at Pemberley."

"Matthew, do not be ridiculous. A lady cannot be seen to ride from Portsmouth to London on _horseback_."

"Well, if we are not to take a coach, and we are not to ride on horseback, how else do you propose we go there? I suppose there might be a ship we could find passage on, but it would be going quite the long way around, to come in through the Thames from here, and – "

"I meant I did not want to take a _hired_ carriage, when it would be much nicer to set up our own."

"Georgiana," he said, stepping around her so that he faced her, and putting his hands on her shoulders. "Do you wish to set up a carriage?"

"Yes!" she exclaimed, in exasperation.

"Then just tell me so, plainly. When my ship has need of something, I am told of it directly – I am not accustomed to subtlety, and I find I am not very good at reading it," he said. "I had thought we might wait until I know of my assignment, to see whether we would have need of one immediately, but if you wish that badly to set up a carriage, we shall see to it as soon as we are in London."

Georgiana bowed her head, sheepishly. It sounded so simple when he spoke of it now, that she should have just said directly that she wished to set up a carriage. Nor had she thought of what would become of the carriage if Matthew did receive a command, and she was to go with him to wherever he travelled.

"You must think me very silly, to be worried over such a thing," she said, finally, looking up to meet his eyes.

"I would never think you silly," he said, reaching out to caress her cheek. "Now that I think on it, I realise now how important this is to your independence, particularly if I am from home."

"And I realise how unnecessary it will be, if I am from home with you."

"Do you still wish to live on board the ship? I will admit to some concern about being able to make the accommodations comfortable enough for you, particularly while you are with child."

"Is this because of the first hotel in Paris?" Georgiana asked, with a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"In part, yes. And also in part on having now seen Pemberley. I would fully understand if you would rather live there, or look for a suitable purchase. We shall have to do so eventually; your aunt is right, that the baronetcy must have a seat."

"I do still wish to live on board, or at least to try it. I have different expectations for what comforts I should have on board a ship, than in a hotel," Georgiana said. "And the delegation would have a certain expectation of us, I thought, in how they should be received when they called on us. There is a certain standard of living which we should be seen to have, with our income."

"Ah, see, you are thinking of things which I have not needed to think of. In the navy, one must only keep a good table, to entertain well, and even that is proportionate to how readily one can come by supplies."

"So you are still open to my living on board?" Georgiana asked.

"Yes, of course, if you wish it. But let us see if I am given an assignment, first," he said, kissing her gently. "I am hoping for the Mediterranean; it has been some time since I've been there, and I believe you would like it."

* * *

They had any number of options, for houses to stay in while they were in London; Fitzwilliam certainly would have opened up the Darcys's house on Curzon Street, if Georgiana had asked. But Matthew's uncle, Lord Anglesey, was quite active in politics, and spent most of his time in town, letting his son and steward see to the running of his estate. His house was already open and ready for visitors, and Georgiana and Matthew were greeted enthusiastically as soon as the carriage had set them down at Margaret Street.

They were shown up to the bedchamber that had been prepared for them, and encouraged to change and then return to the drawing room, so that they might tell Lord Anglesey of all they had seen and done while in Paris. He was informed, as well, of Georgiana's being in the family way, said all that was right and proper in congratulating them, and in turn told them that his son and daughter, also lately married, were expecting a child as well. Georgiana was particularly glad they had told him, for when Matthew took his leave to call on the Admiralty, and she said she thought she might go upstairs to rest for a little while, Lord Anglesey was quite understanding, saying:

"Yes, of course, you should go rest. My late wife was quite exhausted, when she was carrying George. And – " He spoke wistfully, and did not complete his thought, and Georgiana, not knowing what to say, only nodded gently to him.

Matthew made his exit, and Georgiana did go up to their bedchamber to rest for a little while. She returned back down to an empty drawing room, and took back up her work on Matthew's new shirts.

Lord Anglesey's house had not known the touch of a woman for many years, and Georgiana had generally found it lacking in comforts, but the one thing the earl had installed was a fine new water closet, something Georgiana thought she might suggest to her brother, for Curzon Street, as well as Pemberley, for it was quite convenient. The only difficulty of it was that she could not remember which of the doors in the hallway led to it, and the door she tried first was instead Lord Anglesey's study, and it contained a most shocking scene.

There, in a very improper embrace on the chaise in the study, were Lord Anglesey, and the Dowager Viscountess of Tonbridge. Georgiana knew very well what they were about, although up until now she would have described it as an act for the marriage bed; Lord Anglesey and Lady Tonbridge were neither making use of a bed, nor were they married. Georgiana's face grew tremendously hot, and she closed the door as quietly as possible, hoping they had not noticed her. She tried the other door, found it did belong to the water closet, and made quick use of it before returning to the drawing room.

Her return coincided with Matthew's coming back inside the house, and he looked at her and immediately asked, "Georgiana, what in the world is the matter?"

"I – I accidentally walked into the study. I did not know that your uncle and Lady Tonbridge were – having an affair."

"Oh yes, they have been for several years now – I should have thought to tell you. And _they_ should have locked the door," he said. "I suppose my uncle forgot he had guests."

"How was your call?" Georgiana asked, for she did not wish to think any longer about what she had seen behind that door.

"Lord Melville was out. His clerk made an appointment for me to return tomorrow, however, and did seem to indicate that it should have a positive outcome."

"That is good, although I am sorry you have to wait another day."

"I am as well, but there is little to be done about it," he said. "I had actually been thinking of seeing if you wished to go to Clementi's shop as a distraction; it seems now you may be in need of a distraction, as well."

"Looking at music is precisely the sort of distraction I could use right now."

"Let us go, then – the carriage is still outside."

The Clementi & Co. shop was one of Georgiana's favourites in London; beyond the opportunity to purchase music from one of her favourite composers, there was something that quite delighted her about the smell of fine wood, and the occasional tinkle of piano keys, as they were tested. She breathed deeply as soon as they entered, and was making her way over to the sheet music when Matthew called her over to one of the pianofortes in the middle of the shop floor.

It was a small square pianoforte, perched atop six spindly little legs, and although it was quite elegantly painted, it could hardly compete with the great Clementi grands all around it.

"What do you think of this piece?" he asked, with a pleased countenance, so that Georgiana quickly suspected that his intent had not been to bring her here to purchase sheet music, but instead a pianoforte.

Yet he could not be serious, in asking her of what she thought of this little thing; he had seen her Clementi grand, at Pemberley, although perhaps he did not know that Fitzwilliam had promised it should go with her, whenever she established her own household. She thought it to be yet another example of his frugality, and then recalled how he had told her that if there was something she wished for, she should tell him so plainly.

Finally, she said, "It is very nice, for a square pianoforte, but I should like to wait until we have established our household, to see if there is room for my grand pianoforte. Fitzwilliam has promised it should go with me, so long as I have space for it."

He stared at her incredulously for a moment, and then burst into laughter, saying, "Oh, Georgiana, the look on your face – you cannot believe I intended this for land, can you? Yes, of course, once our household is in being, you shall have your grand from Pemberley, or a new one, if that is your preference. But I regret to inform you that neither will fit so well in the cabin of a frigate."

"Oh – I had not even thought there was a possibility of my taking a pianoforte on board. I had rather thought I must console myself with my harp."

"Absolutely not – some modifications were required, but I would not see either of us deprived of your playing. There is Mr. Woodson – he sent word to my uncle a fortnight ago that the modifications were complete, and I must admit I was quite eager to see them."

A young man approached them, and asked Matthew if this was Lady Stanton, come to see her pianoforte, and Matthew replied that she was.

"Well, my lady, you will find the modifications have all been done quite carefully; there should be minimal affect on the sound."

"You did the same as you did for Admiral Russell, yes?" asked Matthew.

"Almost exactly the same, sir, although his model was much older. All of the legs may be detached, and the pedal swivels just so." Upon saying this, Mr. Woodson knelt down below the unit, to show that the pedal could be folded up underneath it.

"Excellent, then it may be packed up and stowed in the hold whenever we clear for action."

Mr. Woodson looked mildly horrified at the thought, but said nothing in response.

"Would you like to try it, Georgiana?" Matthew asked.

Georgiana was still adjusting to the notion that this pianoforte was not a theoretical instrument, that Matthew had asked about, that it was not only intended for her use on board a ship, but that it had already been modified to serve such a purpose. She felt a mixture of tenderness towards him for thinking of it, and embarrassment that she had thought he intended it for a drawing room, and could only just reply that she would certainly like to try it.

She approached the bench, and found both her husband and Mr. Woodson attempting to pull it out for her; Mr. Woodson deferred to Matthew, and once seated, she tried a few scales before deciding she must of course test it with one of Clementi's own sonatas. She was pleasantly surprised to find that although it of course would not have surpassed the grands that surrounded them, the sound was quite fine, and better than some of the other pianofortes she had played on, in various drawing rooms, and even the one in their hotel in Paris. She finished, quite pleased with the instrument, and turned to Matthew, meaning to express her appreciation, when she saw there was a third gentleman standing with him and Mr. Woodson.

"Quite well done, madam, although I meant the allegro agitato to be even more _rapido_," he said. "Perhaps once you are more familiar with the instrument, you shall be able to play it so."

Georgiana started, rose from the bench, and curtsied as deeply as she would have if he had been the King, for surely the gentleman in front of her was Muzio Clementi. Mr. Woodson confirmed her assumption, introducing them all at Matthew's request.

"Signore Clementi, it is the greatest of honours to meet you, sir," Georgiana said.

"Mister Clementi is perfectly fine for someone who has been in England so long as myself, Lady Stanton," Mr. Clementi said. "I am told your husband bashes about great big French ships, and so we should execute his commission, to take one of our pianofortes, and modify it so it may be taken apart. I must admit I feel better about the commission, to know that it should be for your practise. It seems most young ladies of your age are required to play the pianoforte, but you, madam, you _play_. Do not give it up now that you are married."

"I would never think of doing so," Georgiana said. "I thank you very kindly, Mr. Clementi."

"You are quite welcome. But you must remember, faster in the allegro agitato. It is within your capabilities. Good day to you all."

Georgiana and Matthew wished him good day, and Mr. Woodson followed after him, asking after some matter of business. After such an event, Georgiana hardly knew how to react, and was glad to feel Matthew's hand squeezing her shoulder.

"I believe I shall have need your arm in walking away from this bench," she murmured. "I feel nearer to fainting than I ever have before."

"As well you should, to be praised by such a source," he said, pulling back the bench.

Georgiana took up his arm, and they walked towards Mr. Woodson, who had remembered his customers on the exit of Mr. Clementi. Matthew indicated all with the pianoforte was satisfactory, and asked that it be sent to Lord Anglesey's house.

As they were leaving the shop, Georgiana, still feeling a little overcome, finally said, "I do not know how to thank you for your thoughtfulness. I will always look upon this instrument with utmost fondness, although I believe it will be enhanced by my memories of meeting Mr. Clementi."

"The first look on your face was not quite so fond," he said, and although his tone was teasing, Georgiana felt herself blushing. "But you need only thank me by playing it. I thought we might even venture upon some duets."

"Oh, I had been thinking that as well – I would like that more than anything."

* * *

This event was recounted over dinner – which, unsurprisingly, Lady Tonbridge was invited to – with a great deal of enthusiasm by those hearing the tale, as well as those telling it. When she and Lady Tonbridge withdrew from the dining room, Georgiana assumed they would be followed shortly by the gentlemen, with only four in their party.

However, before the gentlemen joined them, and in her usual direct manner, Lady Tonbridge raised that topic which was most embarrassing to Georgiana.

"I believe you may have encountered Lord Anglesey and myself in the study, earlier?" asked she.

Georgiana felt her face grow terribly hot, and nodded mutely.

"I told Lord A. he needed to put a sign on that water closet when he installed it. It need not be crass; a little gilt sign would do quite nicely," Lady Tonbridge said. "However, I find I digress from what I wished to say, which is that I apologise for our lack of discretion. I hope you do not think this was a whim of the day; we have been, well, _involved_, for several years now."

"Yes, Matthew informed me," Georgiana said. "Do you mind if I ask why you do not marry?"

"Oh, we speak of it from time to time. But neither of us has much in the way of motivation to change the present arrangement. I am past child-bearing age, and even if I were not, Lord Tonbridge and I were never blessed with children, so I have never had much confidence in its being a possibility. And the thought of combining two households so established as ours quite frankly exhausts me."

"But there are so many wonderful things about the married state," Georgiana said, blushing again.

"Ah, I see what you are thinking, but it is different for you than it is for me. What is it that you enjoy most about marriage – perhaps being able to spend as much time as you choose with the man you love?"

"Yes, you have described it quite well."

"The difference, then, is that I may do that without marrying, while you, as Miss Darcy, could not," Lady Tonbridge said. "Now, I believe I hear them coming; you must not speak of this to Lord Anglesey, for he would be terribly embarrassed. That man can be squeamish as a maid, when it comes to these sorts of matters."


	14. Part 1, Chapter 14

**AN:** I've had quite a few comments left by a guest or guests asking questions recently. I've answered the one I think would be of more general interest, but I would ask that if you'd like me to respond to questions, please either review through a registered account here so that I can PM you, or email me at sophieturner1805 *at* gmail *dot* com.

A voilder was an obscure name for a chamber pot, and the most elegant-sounding option I could find in a story with a surprising number of references to, erm, facilities.

**Chapter 14**

The initial correspondence from the registry office in Derby had indicated no candidates meeting their qualifications, which Elizabeth and Darcy had taken as a positive sign that the office was adhering more carefully to their qualifications than the one in Matlock had done. A second, later letter indicated one candidate meeting their qualifications had inquired about the position, and Elizabeth – somewhat guiltily – had seen her husband off in the morning to go and interview the woman.

She passed the time working on the household accounts while he was gone, looking over the great ledger book in Darcy's study, as she usually did. There was a study for the mistress of the house's particular use, but like the mistress's bedchambers, it was quite overdone, and so Elizabeth had taken to sharing her husband's study, just as she had in their town house in London.

Elizabeth was still there when he returned, and she knew as soon as he came in that he had not favoured this candidate. Beyond the slightly grim look on his countenance, he had changed out of his travelling clothes, and certainly would have come to see her immediately if he felt he had good news to share.

"Mrs. Devaney, then?" she asked him.

"You know me too well," he said, sitting down across the desk from her. "And yes, I will not trouble you with the details, but I believe Mrs. Devaney to be our best choice, currently. There is one other possibility I had thought of, and that is to approach Charles and Jane about sharing the services of Mrs. Padgett. Certainly we would need additional help in caring for two babies, given how busy Bess keeps her, but they need not have Mrs. Padgett's particular qualifications."

"Yes, I had thought of that as well."

"And what did you conclude?"

"The same as you, I suspect – that Charles and Jane are much too kind to say they do not favour the arrangement, even if they do not."

"You are correct – that was my conclusion as well," Darcy said. "As well, if their new house is habitable by next spring or summer, we may still have need of a wet nurse, once they leave Pemberley. Which returns us to Mrs. Devaney. Perhaps we may give it another week or so and see if there are any other candidates; if there are not I will write to the Matlock office."

Elizabeth sighed. "It might be best if you just write to them now. There is no guarantee she will still be available in a week's time. As you said, she may be more amenable to being offered five years' employment with the possibility that she would not be needed, to nurse the child."

"Is that what you wish me to do?"

"I suppose so. I cannot say that I am enthusiastic about the decision, but perhaps it is best to just have the decision made."

"Very well, then, I shall write the letter," he said. "I do, however, have some other, more interesting news from Derby. The Camberts are selling more of the lands from Barrowmere Park."

"But there are hardly any lands to begin with – I am not even certain I would call it an estate, at its present size."

"If you might not call it an estate now, you certainly shall not be able to once this sale is complete. But the reason there is so little in the way of lands is because most of them have been absorbed into Pemberley over the years."

"Indeed? Was it you or your father who was responsible for the absorption?"

"It has been the work of both of us. Mr. Cambert racked up an extraordinary amount of gambling debts, and began selling his land, parcel by parcel, to my father in an attempt to return the estate to the clear. I rather thought he might succeed, but then more land came up for sale, and more after that, and so on."

"If it has always been you or your father who purchased the land, why does Mr. Cambert not speak to you directly? We are all acquainted. They were here to dine last month."

Last month, however, and not any more recently. Elizabeth did not prefer the company of the Camberts so much as she did some of the other families in the neighbourhood, and although their home bordered directly on Pemberley's land, that family was most often invited to dine with larger groups. Perhaps, she thought, this mild disfavour was mutual.

"I expect he does not wish to admit it to my face, that he must sell more land," Darcy said. "We have had an excellent harvest this year – Pemberley's returns only increase, while his estate fails, and for good reason. Richardson and I shall have to draw up another plan, for what must be done to this new land so that it can bring a decent yield."

"So you intend to buy the land?"

"Of course. I intend to finance it in part with the twenty guineas you owe me."

Elizabeth at first could not remember what he was speaking of, that she owed him twenty guineas, and then she recalled a bet they had made, sitting in the gardens of Carlton House, as to whether he would still find her beautiful when she was large with child.

"I do not owe you twenty guineas yet. The bet was that you would still find me beautiful when I was ready to enter my confinement. I still have nearly two months before I enter my confinement, so there is ample time for me to grow larger, and you to change your mind."

"I shall not change my mind."

"Let us see about that in two months' time," Elizabeth smiled at him, and found herself – not for the first time – wishing that they had not finally given up marital relations. These exchanges of teazing and wit they so often enjoyed had always carried with them a certain thrill, a promise of something initiated which would be fulfilled later, in the night. Now, they still fell into it naturally, but there would be no fulfilment, not for many more months.

As if plagued by the same distracting thoughts as Elizabeth, Darcy sought to change the subject, noting that there had been a letter for her from David Stanton in the post, and handing it across the desk. Elizabeth took it with surprise, for this was a quite prompt reply to her last, and she had not expected such frequent correspondence from him. She remembered, though, that she had indicated her sister Mary was returning to stay with them, and with a little twinge of hope for her sister, broke the seal and began to read, although she soon saw that what was contained within was not that which she had expected:

"I am writing you on a topic you may very well find improper, and I must ask your forgiveness in advance for the impropriety of the query I shall eventually put to you. I hope that now that we are family, you will allow me a little of what my brother would call leeway."

He opened the letter thus, and proceeded to explain that there was a woman in his parish, Mrs. Nichols, who had been the second wife of Mr. Nichols, a hundred-acre farmer on Lord Winterley's estate. Elizabeth struggled to remember Lord Winterley, recalling eventually that he was a baron, and that he held David Stanton's living, and thus was presumably a connexion of Lord Anglesey's.

Mrs. Nichols had given birth to a son, several months ago, the first child for both she and Mr. Nichols. The son might have eventually been brought up to take over the lease on the Nichols's farm, but Mr. Nichols's heart had unexpectedly given out during the harvest, and he had died. Both David Stanton and Lord Winterley were concerned for the welfare of poor Mrs. Nichols, who could be allowed to stay in the farm's cottage through the winter, with Lord Winterley's steward supervising the planting of the winter wheat, but must vacate it by spring for new tenants. Remarriage was a possibility for her, but one she was reluctant to take soon, and so she must find a way to make her living; serving as a wet nurse had seemed the most likely possibility that would allow her to keep her son. David Stanton's letter concluded:

"You must by now know why I have written you particularly of Mrs. Nichols's situation. I do not know if you have yet secured the services of a wet nurse, but thought you my best chance of finding an excellent placement for her. I realise she has no other qualifications than nursing her own son, but I will tell you that she does so most tenderly and carefully. Lady Winterley has called on her frequently and has written a letter of recommendation, and says she would take her on herself if she still had need of a nurse. If you wish it, a copy of her letter will most certainly be forwarded on to you. In an area in which I am more qualified to speak on, Mrs. Nichols attends church services most dutifully; she is a pious woman who believes in the true Anglican communion and shows this in words and deeds. She seems to me of precisely the sort of character one would want in one who cares for children.

"I hope that if you have not yet hired on a nurse, that you will at least give Mrs. Nichols consideration. Lord Winterley will see her conveyed to Pemberley in one of his own carriages, if you wish to interview her. Regardless of what your reply must be as it relates to Mrs. Nichols, I hope I shall hear in your next that Miss Bennet and Mr. Darcy have arrived safely at your home. Please give your entire family my best wishes for your continuing health and happiness,

"DAVID STANTON"

Elizabeth finished the letter in a state of shock, for it seemed impossible that he should have written them with such a neat solution to their search for a wet nurse. She skimmed the later passages again, and on Darcy's noting that whatever was contained within seemed to have made her quite happy, handed the letter over to him so that he might read it as well. She watched his face carefully as he did so, although she suspected he would react as she had; Lord Winterley's concern on behalf of his tenant was the same as he would have shown, and the baron's working with David Stanton to find a solution was exactly the sort of thing Darcy would have done with his own rector, if faced with a similar situation.

"Well, this is quite possibly the completest thing that could ever have happened," Darcy said, when he had finished. "Including his listing your sister before me, in hoping we had arrived here safely."

"I did notice that, and as to the rest, I cannot believe it," Elizabeth said. "To have someone so well spoken for, by someone we know, it would make me so much easier at mind, to have her in this role."

"And she has nursed only her own child. We would have to make accommodations for it, of course; for now all of the babies may share the nursery, and hopefully we shall have ample children's bedrooms, once the boy is older."

It would take five of their own children to fill the remainder of the small bedrooms that bordered the nursery, and Elizabeth was pleased Darcy thought this a possibility.

"Let us interview her, first; I will write to him to have her sent out," she said. "Or – perhaps we should send our own carriage for her, and invite David to accompany her."

"Were your mother to hear you right now, I believe she would be quite proud."

"I have not been the only one to participate in a little scheming for a match for one of our sisters, Mr. Darcy."

Darcy confirmed that what she said was true, and that her idea was a good one. They fixed upon having her response carried by a groom in one of Pemberley's carriages, and their groom and driver to wait at the nearest inn until Mrs. Nichols and David Stanton – if he did choose to come – were ready to travel. Darcy then mentioned idly that she might note Pemberley's Guy Fawkes Night bonfire, if he did not have any related duties in his own parish, and wished to time his visit so that he might attend.

"What Guy Fawkes bonfire do you speak of?" asked Elizabeth, feeling a little panicked, for it was already the 30th of October, and she certainly had not undergone any preparations for an event on the estate.

"Oh, we do one every year. You need not worry about it; I am sure Richardson and Mrs. Reynolds have it in hand. Most of the work is on Richardson's end, in seeing the wood assembled for the bonfire – he quite delights in a good bonfire."

"Still, I would have expected Mrs. Reynolds to say something of it." Indeed, it was the sort of thing Mrs. Reynolds would have consulted with Elizabeth on well in advance, typically. Elizabeth had been encouraging her to act with more autonomy, but could not help but think that perhaps this autonomy increased with Elizabeth's belly.

"She likely will, in a day or two. The kitchen's role is minimal; we serve out biscuits and mulled wine. Although certainly something different might be done, if you wish it."

"No, staying with the tradition is fine, if it has been well-received. I only – I only hope she is not attempting to coddle me because I am with child. I am still some time away from birth, and it is important to me that I learn all of Pemberley's traditions."

"I do not believe it is a case of coddling, merely that she did not think it an event which should require major notice from you. I only thought of it as a possible incentive for David to make a visit. And yes, before you say so, that is certainly at least a little scheming, Mrs. Darcy."


	15. Part 1, Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

With Matthew gone to call on the First Lord, and Lord Anglesey off on his own round of calls, Georgiana thought she would spend much of the morning by herself, and was quite surprised when the butler announced Miss Catherine Bennet and Mrs. Gardiner, there to call on her. She asked that they be shown in immediately, and could not even greet Catherine, before her friend was saying:

"Oh, I hope you do not mind I did not just leave my card – my aunt and I called on Lady Tonbridge just now, and when she said you had returned to town I could not wait to see you!"

"Of course not – it is a surprise, but the most pleasant of surprises. I had thought you were still at Longbourn!" Georgiana said, and then greeted Mrs. Gardiner, inviting her and Catherine to be seated.

"I only just came to town. Captain Ramsey expects he will come into Portsmouth, but no one is available to take me there. My father did allow me to come here to stay with my aunt and uncle, though, so at least I am a little closer."

"Oh, we were just in Portsmouth," Georgiana said. "Although only for a night."

"Even if it was only a night, I am terribly jealous of you!" exclaimed Catherine. "I so long to see it, after hearing so much about it."

"It may be a poor substitute, but I have done a few rough sketches, of what I saw," Georgiana said. "Let me go get my sketchbook, and I shall show you, although you must not expect much. I believe you have long since surpassed me in drawing skills."

Catherine said all that was polite, as regarded her friend's skills, but Georgiana knew what she said to be true. She had never been enthusiastic about drawing and painting, and had largely given them up. Only upon learning she might travel to Paris had she procured a new sketchbook, but only with the aim to capture her travels as best she might, not for any particular enjoyment of the art itself.

The sketchbook was retrieved, and Georgiana, Catherine and Mrs. Gardiner spent a good deal of time in looking over all she had sketched, both of Portsmouth, and Paris. Georgiana would not consider it her place to ask the housekeeper to bring in refreshments, but they were brought, anyway, the result of a housekeeper who had served under a widower for many years, and had no need of a mistress to tell her what was necessary.

When Georgiana mentioned the many shopping outings they had undertaken in Paris, and had sent Hughes upstairs in search of the gifts she had purchased for her friend, Mrs. Gardiner, whose husband earned his money through trade, asked a few discreet questions about the state of the shops, and particularly the fabrics. Georgiana answered her as best she could, and then had Hughes bring down a few of her dresses so that Mrs. Gardiner could see them for herself.

It was a most pleasant call, and if Georgiana might have been able to convince them to stay beyond what was polite, she would have. They would take their leave, however, and Matthew returned not long after they had gone. Georgiana knew immediately by the set of his face that he was unhappy about something, but she was not certain what precisely what it was.

"What is the matter?" she asked. "Were you not given the Caroline? Or not a command at all? I cannot see how they could ignore all of the interest in your favour."

He sat beside her, and, after some hesitation, finally said, "It is neither. I have been given a command, of the Caroline."

All of this, Georgiana felt, should have been the most wonderful news, and so she waited for him to continue.

"It is the mission of the ship which proves to be a problem, or perhaps I should say the destination. I am to carry despatches to our envoys in the Baltic ports."

"Now, so near to winter?"

"The despaches must go through, regardless of the season, particularly with such a treaty to be signed."

"I am sure it will be bitterly cold outside, but still, I believe we may manage."

"Therein is the problem, Georgiana. There is very little difference between inside and outside, in the wooden walls of a frigate, even with the best brazier, and thus there can be no _we_. I could never possibly countenance taking you to the Baltic in the winter, much less while you are with child."

Georgiana felt tears spring to her eyes – this was not a possibility she had considered, that he should be assigned somewhere so inhospitable that she could not travel with him. Nor was she entirely certain that the Baltic was so cold a place she could not still go; she wondered if perhaps he was still thinking of the hotels in Paris, and assuming she required a higher level of comfort than she did, truly. Certainly, there was a level of comfort which she _preferred_, but that was well above the level of comfort she _required_.

"How long do you expect you will be there? I believe I can manage, if it is of short duration. I have spent many a winter in Derbyshire."

"Two to four months, I expect, and if you had spent many a winter in the Orkneys, that would prove an equivalent," he said. "Even without that, I would be inclined to have you try it, if that were your choice, but the risk is too great. We are given despatches for four countries – Russia, Prussia, Sweden and Denmark – when in another season four ships might have carried them. The Admiralty will only risk one ship because the Baltic does freeze over occasionally, and if that happens, they would rather lose one ship than four."

"But what should happen to _you_, if the sea freezes?"

"In the worst case – the very worst case – the ship would be crushed by the ice," he said, and then, noting her horrified countenance, "If that were to happen, and the odds are not for it, we would make our way over the ice, or in the smaller boats, to the nearest port. I cannot say it would be a pleasant journey, but now that my leg has healed, it is not one that overly concerns me. However, I would not place my pregnant wife in a situation where there was the slightest chance where she must make that journey."

Despite the constant physical reminders of her condition, Georgiana often found herself forgetting the very strange notion that it meant she was carrying a life in addition to her own. Now, she was most painfully reminded of it, for certainly he was right – she had doubts about her own ability to endure what he described, and it could not be risked while she was with child. With this understanding, she found herself quite overwhelmed, and could no longer contain her tears. She found herself quickly embraced, and comforted by it, although it was impossible to forget that such comforts would soon be lost to her.

"With the war over, I never thought we would have to be separated," she whispered.

"Neither did I, dearest. It seems my timing was too early, rather than correct. They need someone who may be prepared to leave as soon as the treaty is signed. If I had waited a little longer, I might have been given despatches for somewhere more temperate."

"Is there any chance of Lord Melville's being convinced to give you one of those assignments instead?"

"It is not likely, not with so many ships returning. If I refuse this assignment, it will be given to another – there are any number of captains returning home who will go on half pay, and would be most happy to receive even this assignment. And if I were to refuse this assignment, it is very likely no other will ever come my way. Such an action is not taken lightly by the Admiralty."

"We must resign ourselves to it, then," Georgiana sighed. "And hope that it is closer to two months, than four."

"Even if it is four, I shall still return with plenty of time for the baby to be born."

"What if you are given another assignment following this one?" Georgiana asked, feeling a little panicked at the thought of his being away when she was to give birth.

"I will request leave again, if necessary," he said, holding her even more closely. "You would never be alone for the event, given your family, but I promise I shall be there, to greet our son or daughter. You will not give birth without me."

* * *

The remainder of the day was spent largely in seeking comfort; they went for a quiet walk in Hyde Park, and had a rather sober dinner with the earl, who was acquainted with Matthew's assignment and not at all happy about it, although he agreed there was little to be done which would not affect his nephew's chances for a future command. The morning following, however, when Georgiana came down to breakfast, Matthew told her very gently that he would need to go down to Portsmouth in a few days to take command of the ship, and asked if she would prefer to go with him.

"Of course," she said. "I would like to stay with you for as long as I may. I only wish we could bring Catherine with us. She would love very much to be able to greet Captain Ramsey there upon his return."

"Is there any reason why we may not?" he asked.

"She has no one to attend her there and chaperone – oh, I suppose I am a married woman now, and may chaperone her myself." This, to Georgiana, was a very strange notion, given Catherine was older than she, but Matthew was correct; there was no reason why they might not convey Catherine to Portsmouth, and have her stay with them.

"Send her a note, then, and invite her to come with us," he said. "For I do not know that we shall have time to call on her. I thought we might go to Aldrich's today; we may always try Tattersalls tomorrow, if no suitable purchase appears."

Georgiana smiled sadly, for it appeared he was in earnest about setting up a carriage, which she would surely need, now, and yet it seemed an impossible thing to accomplish within a few days. "I thank you for thinking of the carriage," she said. "Yet even if we were to find equipment and a pair of horses, I do not know that the proper staff may be found in such a short time."

"I am not so certain of that myself, but my uncle will make the attempt on our behalf," he said. "He claims there is always some fool who has put himself in debt and needs to trim his stables, and if he asks around at his clubs, he should be able to find a few candidates."

To Aldrich's they went, in the earl's carriage, and as soon as they had set foot into the yard, Georgiana felt deeply uncomfortable, quite certain she was the only lady present. "Perhaps I should not have come," she whispered.

"If we were purchasing a boat, I would happily do the deed myself," Matthew said. "However, you are certainly a better judge of horseflesh than I, and you will make far more use of the carriage; I could not see making the purchase without you."

Georgiana appreciated the sentiment, if not the stares from a few of the gentlemen present. She stepped even closer to Matthew, as if to tell them she at least was not here by herself, as they examined the carriages on display. She had long wished to set up a carriage, but now found the offerings overwhelming, particularly with the knowledge that the choice must be made quickly.

"I think I would prefer a landau," she said, and could not help but be reminded of her dreams, and Mr. Wickham's promise within that she should have a landau. Yet it _was_ what she preferred, there seemed a certain versatility in such a vehicle that could be used for longer distances, and yet also enjoyed in milder weather. Upon explaining this to Matthew, he agreed with her, and they focused their search thusly, yet still did not see anything they preferred.

They were similarly disappointed with the horses on offer that day, and Georgiana feared they should have to go to Tattersalls in order to find a sufficiently matched team she approved of; if she found Aldrich's Repository intimidating, she felt quite certain Tattersalls would be far worse. They left the place with no carriage, and no horses, and Georgiana found they were not even to go directly home, for they must stop at the offices of an attorney, so that they could both sign a series of papers, giving her control of their finances beyond her own pin money, should she need it. They then went to Drummonds, so that she could be introduced to the bank managers, and copies of the papers handed over to them.

Georgiana was quite exhausted by the time they returned to the carriage, although she did attend to Matthew's speaking of how his uncle would readily attend her to Drummonds, if she had need of it. He expected his uncle to remain in town through the whole season, but if for some reason he was unavailable, perhaps Mr. Gardiner would be willing to assist her, given he was family and resided in town. Georgiana replied that Mr. Gardiner was a genial man, and certainly would do so if she had need of his assistance.

They found Lord Anglesey most eager for their return, and could not even be seated in the drawing room before he was telling them why:

"You have not yet made any purchase related to the carriage?" he asked, and when they replied they had not, continued, "In that case I believe I have learned of just the thing. Mr. Fulton looks to trim his stable and hoped to sell the entire shooting match together – a very fine landau, all the rest of the equipage, and a pair of Cleveland Bays. He also looks to trim staff, and has a groom quite ready for promotion, whom he believes would be very interested in a new position as coachman for this team."

"Georgiana had been wishing for a landau," Matthew said, smiling at her.

"Excellent! I had hoped as much, because I have invited him to dinner, and to come in that conveyance, so that you might see it. We shall have to put up with his conversation, but I thought it for the best given how quickly you must make your purchase."

Georgiana feared that they might wish to continue to speak of the carriage, and although she was quite happy at the prospect of it, she also wished to rest before dinner, particularly if she was to meet a new acquaintance and inspect the carriage. Lord Anglesey had nothing further to inform them on the matter, however, and noted that she might like to go up and rest, as she had the day before.

* * *

Had Mr. Fulton not been arriving in what might become her own landau, Georgiana might have continued to claim fatigue through dinner, and requested a tray instead. She did feel better, however, upon making her way downstairs and being introduced to Mr. Fulton. His clothes and manners immediately showed him to be the sort of rake who would find himself in enough debt to require the trimming of his stable. He was, however, quite good about their inspecting the landau, for once he had introduced the promising groom, who was named Murray, he returned inside with Lord Anglesey, to consume the earl's brandy, leaving Georgiana and Matthew free to look over the carriage.

It _was_ a very fine landau, led by a very fine-looking set of horses. Georgiana approached them each and stroked their noses, looking them carefully in the eyes, for her father had instilled his belief in both she and her brother, that you could tell much about a horse from its eyes. She was pleased that they each seemed to possess equal parts spirit and kindness, and then made her way around to the side of the horse nearer the house, to feel his front legs for hot spots. She found nothing of concern, there, but was once again overcome by a wave of dizziness when she stood to make her way over to his hind legs. Matthew had by now come to anticipate these fits of dizziness, and offered his arm for even those short few steps.

Her need to complete this inspection, however, was prevented by one of Lord Anglesey's grooms running up to them and saying the lady should have no need of such dirty work in her dinner dress. He not only felt each leg, but bade the horses to pick up their feet so that he might check the condition of their hooves and frogs, and opened their mouths, confirming the teeth of each matched the seven and eight years of age that had been promised.

"Fine animals," said Murray. "Cared for 'em these four years, I 'ave. Never more than a stone bruise, I promise ye."

"Indeed?" said Matthew. "Would you have interest in continuing to care for them, and taking on a position as our coachman, were we to purchase them?"

Murray replied as a man fond of his charges, desirous of promotion, and well aware of his employer's debts would, and also told them Mr. Fulton had said he might take them around the block in the landau, if they so chose. They were quite pleased by this, and that the young man seemed a good whip and the carriage well-sprung. These observations took little time, however, and after they had been shared, Matthew said:

"This dizziness of yours concerns me greatly. We have accomplished quite a bit today, and yet we have not done that which is most important, and I should have thought of. What is the name of the physician in town, whom your sister saw?"

"Dr. Whittling?"

"Yes, you should have an appointment with him. If he cannot see you before we go down to Portsmouth, will you promise to return to town, and see him before you – we have not discussed where you will go. Shall you go to Pemberley, or would you prefer to stay here? Or do you wish to set up your own household?"

"This is all overwhelming enough, already," Georgiana said. "I cannot possibly think of setting up our household now, and if I cannot go with you, I should like to be with Elizabeth for her own birth."

"Yes, of course. Then before you go to Pemberley, you will see Dr. Whittling?"

"Yes, Matthew, I shall see him. Although we should not settle it that I shall go to Pemberley until I have been invited. It is not my home anymore, to be dropping in as I choose."

"You cannot possibly think your brother and sister would not invite you."

"I have no doubt that they shall, but it would be proper to wait until the invitation has been made. I will write to them first thing on the morrow and tell them of my situation."

When they had returned to the house, Matthew requested Murray drive it past them again, so they might see the way the horses looked. Georgiana and the groom watched them carefully, and Georgiana found she liked them very well; they were fine, but not flashy movers, and she thought if her brother were to see them, he would say they were inclined to soundness.

"I like the horses very much," she said, and found Lord Anglesey's groom nodding in agreement. "And Mr. Murray, and the landau itself. It is the completest thing, that your uncle should find them available."

"If there is a thing in London to be found, my uncle is the person to see to it," he said. "We shall need to hire a footman, but I have an idea in that quarter. Shall we go in and tell Mr. Fulton we wish to make the purchase?"

"Yes, let us do so."

Lord Anglesey had been right that Mr. Fulton's conversation was wanting, although dinner was at least helped along by discussion of the purchase, so that all the details were finalised by the time it was complete. Georgiana would have preferred to retire immediately, rather than going to the drawing room, but to announce such an intent might have invited Mr. Fulton to linger interminably over port. Instead, her presence alone in the drawing room meant that they joined her there quickly, and Mr. Fulton did not stay long after that.

When he had taken his leave, Lord Anglesey said, "I only saw it from the doorway, but it looks to be a fine carriage. Just the thing for a couple newly married. You should at least paint over the arms, before making your way down to Portsmouth; you would not wish to rush drawing up your own."

"Might I not simply use the family arms?" Matthew asked.

"You could, but I would suggest at least some modification – perhaps an anchor, or some rope, or something of the like. You have a title of your own now, and some independence of the arms would be appropriate."

Matthew indicated that they should look into having something drawn up, and yet Georgiana could not help but think that his countenance matched her own thoughts on the subject. They had married for love, without a thought to his new baronetcy, and all that must come with it – arms on their carriage, a home of permanence, an heir to succeed to the title. At least, Georgiana thought, she might be carrying the heir, but she felt overwhelmed at the thought of trying to make any more progress on their land-based life alone, while her husband was at sea.


	16. Part 1, Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

While his younger brother was making his way down to Portsmouth, David Stanton was escorting Mrs. Nichols to Pemberley. The fifth of November having fallen on a Sunday that year, the bonfire was held by tradition a day later, which allowed the carriage to set out early that morning and arrive well before the event was to take place.

Its arrival was greeted with a good deal of anticipation from several members of the house. Elizabeth and Darcy were eager to see Mrs. Nichols, and desirous of finding she matched with what they hoped for. Mary, although delighted her sister had already contrived a way of inviting Mr. Stanton to stay with them for a few days, greeted him with that shyness which must result from a long separation of two such people.

It was not an unbecoming shyness, however, and having made every proper greeting to his hosts, and being informed that he had been put up in the same room as his last visit, he offered his arm to Mary so that they might go inside together. There they joined the Bingleys in the yellow drawing room, where the doors had been opened to the music room, so that they could hear Miss Kelly practising the pianoforte, occasionally punctuated by a little coo from Bess.

In the larger house party in which they had formerly been in company, Mary and Mr. Stanton had been largely forgotten amongst those who were more dominant in conversation. Today, however, with so few people in the drawing room, they were not able to converse privately so quickly as Mary would have liked. Bess must be introduced, and then Mr. Stanton's journey, the weather, and his sermon the day prior were required to be inquired after and discussed in some detail before he excused himself to change out of his travelling clothes.

Mary watched him leave the room with the strangest and most unexpected little fluttering of spirits. She would never allow herself to act quite as her sister Catherine had, when being courted by Captain Ramsey – although nowhere near what their sister Lydia was capable of, Kitty had been more forward and flirtatious than Mary could support – but she understood better the elevated spirits Catherine had shown whenever her beau had come to call. Such thoughts could not help but be followed by the question of whether or not Mary was in love, but with some reflection on the matter, she decided she was not yet in love. Capable of love, certainly, and perhaps even on the precipice of it, but not yet in love, and she could not help but wonder if these few days would be enough to see her heart settled.

* * *

Mrs. Nichols could not be interviewed immediately, for she had alighted the carriage with her young son in her arms, and Elizabeth had asked Mrs. Reynolds to show them both up to the nursery, where the boy could be fed before they would all speak. Still, Elizabeth found she liked the look of this woman very much; she had a kind, straightforward countenance and a trim figure. She had arrived in a simple dress, dyed black and dusty from the road, but in good repair, and compared to Bess, at least, her son was absolutely silent.

They allowed some time to for her to settle before going to the nursery, and upon entering found she was singing her son to sleep in a voice that no one would compliment, but that seemed to be effective. It was a scene of such maternal bliss that Elizabeth found herself deeply envious, before reminding herself that it would not be so many more weeks now before she might do the same, with her own child.

Poor Mrs. Padgett was still down in the music room with Bess, and Mrs. Nichols was reluctant to leave her son alone, even to go to the sitting room nearest the nursery, so a maid was summoned to sit with the child, and alert them if he woke. Once the maid had been installed and Elizabeth, Darcy, and Mrs. Nichols were all seated, however, Elizabeth felt fully the awkwardness of the situation: this was not an interview like those at Matlock, where Mrs. Nichols might easily be dismissed if some aspect of her was found wanting, for she had come to stay in their home, with her own child. Finally, Elizabeth asked:

"What is your son's name? I do not believe Mr. Stanton mentioned it in his letter."

"George, ma'am, after his father," said Mrs. Nichols.

"Of course," Elizabeth said. "And please allow me to say how very sorry Mr. Darcy and I are, for your loss."

"I thank ye very kindly, Mrs. Darcy."

They seemed at risk of falling into silence again, but Darcy now spoke, saying, "Has Mr. Stanton indicated to you the position we seek to fill?"

"Yes, sir. He says ye have a need of a woman, for to nurse your child who is coming," Mrs. Nichols said. "He says there 'tis a chance for she who holds the job to keep her own baby, if she has one, which is very important, for myself. I will not give up my boy."

Mrs. Nichols looked at him with a little defiance in her countenance, and Elizabeth loved her for it.

"Yes, as you see, we have more than ample room in the nursery, and could certainly make accommodations for you and your son," Darcy said. "You should know, as well, that Mrs. Darcy intends to do the majority of the wet nursing of the child herself; you may be called upon very little in that quarter, although you would have responsibility for the child's care. Would that be acceptable to you?"

"Yes, sir. If my own boy is allowed to stay it shan't hurt my own future livelihood, if ye have little need in that area."

"And would you be discreet, about this arrangement?"

"Of course, sir."

"Very well, Mrs. Nichols, for I will tell you that if you are discreet, and perform your duties admirably, you shall have little need to worry on your future livelihood. I expect we will have need of a nurse for a great many years."

No longer defiant, Mrs. Nichols now looked exceedingly relieved. She produced her letter of recommendation from Lady Winterley, and Elizabeth and Darcy read it over, although Elizabeth assumed her husband's mind was already settled in the matter, as was hers. Lady Winterley had written a most proper letter; she was honest about those of Mrs. Nichols's virtues she felt she could speak on, and about those which she had not been able to observe, having no children young enough to be nursed by the woman.

The letter was returned to Mrs. Nichols, Darcy named a rate of pay which Elizabeth knew to be quite generous, although she thought it appropriate, for the woman who would have such a role, and it was agreed to with no negotiation at all. Darcy noted that Mrs. Padgett was already staying in the bedroom which was usually reserved for the resident nurse, and that Mrs. Nichols should be put up in the room beside it, which traditionally would have been one of the children's rooms, although she would need to stay elsewhere for a few nights while it was made over for an adult.

They returned to the nursery with a very stunned Mrs. Nichols, who did not seem to believe her good fortune, to have been hired on into such a house, with such ease, and with the promise of every accommodation being made for her own son. There they found that Mrs. Padgett had returned with Bess, who was not asleep, but laid quietly in her crib across the room from George, who slept still. Mrs. Padgett and Mrs. Nichols were introduced, and Mrs. Nichols was welcomed most happily by poor Mrs. Padgett, who seemed hopeful the new nurse might be willing to help her with Bess, at least in the weeks before Mrs. Darcy's baby was born, and was having these hopes encouraged by Mrs. Nichols as Elizabeth and Darcy left the nursery.

When they came back out into the hallway, Darcy asked Elizabeth if she would rest a little, before the evening, as they were likely to have a long night of it. Elizabeth's pregnancy had long since reached the point where she preferred to rest even if she had nothing but dinner with the Bingleys planned, and replied that she would.

"Very well, I will walk with you," he said, and they started toward the other side of the house. "Are you happy with Mrs. Nichols?"

"Yes, quite happy. I like her very much, and it is even more pleasing to know that she and her son will have a good home here, given their situation."

"Yes, I imagine David and Lord Winterley will be quite happy at the news that we will take her on."

Darcy opened the door to her bedchamber for her, and saw her settled onto the chaise there, for Elizabeth feared if she laid on the bed she would sleep too deeply, and feel even more tired when Sarah woke her to change.

"Do you require anything? A blanket, perhaps?" Darcy asked.

"Are you to coddle me now, as well?"

"You must allow me to. Who else may I coddle, but my pregnant wife?"

"You are insufferable," Elizabeth said, shaking her head. "Bring me the blanket, if you must."

The blanket was brought, and bestowed with a chaste little kiss and his hand on her belly, and Elizabeth, quite contented, fell into a deep sleep in spite of herself.

* * *

They did not quite keep town hours, at Pemberley, but they did usually dine at six, and as the bonfire's festivities began at twilight, dinner must necessarily be affected. Elizabeth had decided it was best to have a little cold collation in the yellow drawing room before they set out, and then a more substantial supper when they returned. Mary found this informal arrangement to be quite preferable, for when she had taken her plate to a little group of seats quite on the edge of the drawing room, she found that – as she had hoped – she was immediately joined by Mr. Stanton. They were studiously avoided by the rest of the party, who, despite having lived together for many months, managed to engross themselves in conversation in the centre of the room.

"I have finished both Gisborne and Paley," Mary said, a little abruptly, but she could think of no other way to begin the conversation she wished to have.

"Have you?" Mr. Stanton asked, with some degree of surprise. "I will admit, I am not used to young ladies following my recommendations for spiritual reading with such zeal."

Mary thought he must be acquainted with some very frivolous young ladies indeed, for although a few passages had been labourious, she had completed them easily enough.

"I allot quite a bit of time for reading, and of course for practising the pianoforte," Mary said. "I do wonder, however, at your recommending works so very contradictory! I read Paley first, and thought you aligned more with the enlightenment thinkers, yet if I had read Gisborne first I would have been certain you were an evangelical."

"Ah, yes," he smiled. "I cannot say that I sit firmly in either camp, and I hope that I never shall. My enjoyment is in the discourse of these ideas."

Mary had always assumed there was a right camp, just as there was right and wrong, and she found it troubling that he – who had possessed more years in the world than her, in which to make up his mind as to which was right – could comfortably say that he did not wish to do so. She had not seen this side of him, before, but then they had discussed less controversial writings, such as those of Fordyce and Gregory.

"Do you not think that eventually you shall encounter an argument which settles your mind in one direction, or the other?"

"I have thought I encountered it, many times, Miss Bennet, but then I always read something which pushes it in another direction," he said. "You must remember that my father is quite a closed-minded man, and I suppose I have always endeavoured to keep my own as open as possible, so as not to be like him."

Mary had not met The Honourable Richard Stanton, but she had heard him described by Georgiana as a cruel man, and such a description from Georgiana, who ordinarily would not say anything so critical of anyone, had very much influenced her own opinion of the man. Perhaps if she had grown up in such a family, she might have reacted in a manner similar to Mr. Stanton, but Mary had been raised in a family where no-one could be brought to have much of an opinion one way or the other, when it came to religion. It was not that the Bennets were not devout – they attended church every Sunday and prayed at all the appropriate times. Yet none of them but Mary could be brought to stray far from the common prayer-book.

They had lapsed into silence, although the need to keep eating so that they would be ready when the carriages came around meant that it was not awkward. Eventually, he asked how she had been, since he had seen her last, and she told him of how things had been at Longbourn, with Lydia enraged over her husband's reappearance in France, and Kitty pining away for Captain Ramsey's return, so that the remainder of their time in the drawing room passed well enough.

* * *

Elizabeth was glad David Stanton and Mary had come with her and Darcy in the carriage, for without the presence of a clergyman in the carriage with them, she might very well have let slip some blasphemy, upon seeing the tower of wood that was to make up the bonfire. She looked over at Darcy, who was shaking his head in shock, and saying: "This is too much by half. Richardson must have made it much larger last year, with wood more readily available after the peace. I shall tell him this is the limit. It cannot be made any larger than this."

The bonfire would take place on Pemberley's grounds, but it was close enough to Lambton that the inhabitants of that village could make the walk there easily enough, and they were joined by most of Pemberley's staff and tenants, who were brought round by cart if they could not walk so far. Mrs. Reynolds and the footmen were already there, beside one of the kitchen maids, who stirred a great pot of mulled wine, hung over a much smaller fire. They had a table set up, as well, covered with cups, and the biscuits the kitchen had been making for the last three days; beside all of this was a single chair, which Mrs. Reynolds indicated had been brought out for Mrs. Darcy.

"I do not need a chair," Elizabeth protested. "I shall go around with Mr. Darcy and speak with everyone."

"You needn't exert yourself, ma'am," Mrs. Reynolds said. "They all will surely come to you. They would do so even if we had not sat you near the refreshments."

Elizabeth looked to Darcy to make her protest to him, but he was making as though he wished to escort her to the chair.

"I am not an invalid," she whispered fiercely to him, "and yet I find I am being treated thusly."

"You may stand or walk with me for awhile if you choose to," he murmured. "But it will be a long evening, and Mrs. Reynolds only wishes to ensure your comfort. You must remember she has hardly known a mistress of Pemberley in her present role, and never one who was with child."

Elizabeth sighed, for his point was a good one, and she thanked Mrs. Reynolds, and said she certainly would appreciate use of the chair later, but for now she would walk about a bit with Mr. Darcy. They made their way amongst the gathering crowd, which parted easily at their approach, saying little more than how-do-you-dos to tenants, and those from the village. A few of the local gentle families had come out, as well, under the promise of a bonfire and supper at Pemberley, to follow.

When the sun had fully set, Elizabeth sensed the event wanting some formal speech before the bonfire was to be lit, but knew her husband would be loathe to speak in front of so many people. Instead, it seemed it was the duty of Lambton's rector, Mr. Clark, to lead them all in a prayer which began with thankfulness for a good harvest, and then continued on to duty to one's king – and regent – and country. He prayed they should all avoid the sin of treasonous thoughts, and never to think evil or speak ill, as regarded their ruler and government, and then concluded simply with the Lord's Prayer.

After a lengthy pause, Mr. Richardson walked up to the tower of wood with a lighted torch in his hand, and Pemberley's usually mild-mannered steward raised the torch in the air with a dramatic flourish, and then, with an expression of raw delight, plunged the torch into the wood. Some portion of the wood in the tower had been soaked in tar, and it lit quickly, so quickly that there was a great "ooh!" emanating from the crowd, which, fortunately, had known to stand well back of the bonfire from the previous year.

Mary and Mr. Stanton were standing behind most of the crowd, yet even so, she could feel the heat coming from it, and found her eyes dazzled by the bright fire against the night sky. She was troubled by Mr. Clark's prayer, however, that it was a sin to speak ill of their ruler.

"What is the matter, Miss Bennet?" asked Mr. Stanton, upon noticing she was frowning. "Are you cold? Do you wish to move closer to the fire?"

"Oh, no, I am perfectly warm here," Mary said. "I was thinking on Mr. Clark's prayer, that it was a sin even to speak ill of a ruler. I know the King is God's representative on earth, yet kings may also be sinners – think of St. Thomas and King Henry II."

"Ah, I will admit it did not sit fully right with me, either," Mr. Stanton said. "Let us go find Mr. Clark, and speak with him of it."

"No, please – I did not mean that we should raise an argument with him." Mary was perfectly comfortable with sermonising to her own family, and attempting to influence their minds, but to critique the prayer offered by an ordained clergyman! The thought of it very nearly made her tremble, even though it was another ordained clergyman who proposed it.

"I do not mean to argue, merely to discuss. You know how I favour discourse," he said, offering his arm in a manner so kind and so direct, Mary could not bring herself to disappoint him.

They found Mr. Clark speaking with some of the local gentry, and waited until he was disengaged from that conversation before saying their greetings. Mr. Clark had become acquainted with Mr. Stanton in the course of Georgiana's marriage to Sir Matthew, and Mary had never sensed any strong feelings of either like or dislike between them. After a very cordial beginning, Mr. Stanton said:

"Miss Bennet and I have been discussing your prayer, and I believe we both must admit that it does not sit entirely right with us. Speaking ill of a king is treason, certainly, yet it does not necessarily follow that treason is a sin."

Mary tensely awaited Mr. Clark's response, which was: "You raise a rather interesting point, sir. Yet I would argue that when the King is head of the church, and God's anointed ruler on earth, there is little difference between speaking ill of the king, and speaking ill of the church."

"But what of cases where the king has gone against the true church? Would you argue that the Glorious Revolution should not have come about – for surely it could not have come about without some manner of speaking ill of James II – and that we should all have reverted to papacy?"

"If we lived in such times, perhaps my prayers would be different, I will allow you that. What say you, Miss Bennet? Mr. Stanton says my prayer did not sit right with the both of you, and yet you have been silent, thus far."

"As I told Mr. Stanton, I do not think we can forget that kings may be sinners, as well," Mary said, timidly. She required herself to continue in a louder, if wavering voice, "I gave as my example St. Thomas, and King Henry II, and I do not believe you may say I am speaking ill of that king, for he readily admitted his sins in the matter, and sought penitence for them."

"Very true, Miss Bennet," Mr. Clark said. "I will allow, then, that in theory, if a monarch acts to put his people off of God's path, it would not be a sin for those people to discuss how that path might be righted."

"Even if that discussion led to the monarch being deposed?" Mr. Stanton asked.

"That is further than I would wish to go, in front of a Guy Fawkes bonfire. And yet you have already given an example where it was so, and caused the restoration of the rightful religion in England," Mr. Clark said. "I will say, however, that you must consider the audience to which I spoke tonight. They live in an era with considerable freedom to worship God as they choose, and they are the beneficiaries of a very good and fair landlord. Your other, theoretical people may have reason to speak ill of their monarch or their government, but these people here – they do not."

"But just because they have no reason to, that does not mean that it is a sin," said Mary.

"I will allow that perhaps I may have worded my prayer a little better," Mr. Clark said. "I thank you both for giving me something to think on; I did not expect such a lively discussion, tonight."

Mr. Clark bowed and walked away, to speak to others in the crowd, and after he had left them, Mr. Stanton said, "You see, that was not so bad at all, although I will own that he was far more open to the discussion than many men might have been."

"Indeed, he was. It was very good of him," Mary said, and found herself feeling very pleased about the exchange. In the past, she might have just kept her disagreement in, and thought less of Mr. Clark. Now, however, she thought better of him for listening to them, and she found she thought even better of the gentleman who had prompted the conversation.

* * *

By the time the crowd had gathered around the mulled wine and biscuits, Elizabeth was ready to admit the wisdom of Mrs. Reynolds' having seen to a chair for her. Mrs. Reynolds was correct, as well, that people would come to her. None would pass the refreshments without stopping to bow or curtsey to her, and she engaged them each in a little conversation, then encouraged them to move on and take up their cups of wine.

Eventually, Darcy came over to stand beside her, looking strangely happy, for having been in such a large crowd for so long.

"Mr. Sinclair had a fox make an attempt on his henhouse, two nights ago," he said.

"You look entirely too pleased by this. Had you and Mr. Sinclair some sort of bet involving the survival of each other's chickens?"

"Oh, no – one of his men heard the commotion before too much damage was done," Darcy said. "I am pleased because it means we should open the hunt season as soon as we may. I believe we might fix a date over supper, for the first hunt."

Elizabeth had not realised he enjoyed hunting so much, although it made sense; Darcy quite favoured anything of the equestrian line, except racing. They had missed the entire fox season, last year, remaining in town through both the little season and full season, and it seemed Darcy intended to make up for it this year.

"Another tradition I shall have to learn," Elizabeth said. "We may discuss later the order of things, and what is needed in the matter of food and drink."

"Certainly. I only wish Georgiana were here for it."

"Georgiana hunts?" Elizabeth had begun learning to ride before her pregnancy had progressed very far, but could never imagine herself participating in a hunt. Georgiana, however, was a far more enthusiastic horsewoman than she, and far more experienced.

"She could now, if she wished. Her jumping has been up to the level required for some years, but it would not have done for her to even follow the hunt, before she was out in society."

"Well, if Matthew is not given a command, perhaps they may return here, and she shall have her chance."


	17. Part 1, Chapter 17

I will be taking a posting hiatus of a little more than two weeks after this chapter while I am traveling. Hopefully traveling will give me lots of inspiration for ACL3! :)

**Chapter 17**

Georgiana and Catherine made their entry into Portsmouth a few days after Matthew, who had determined he could not wait any longer to join his ship and – to Georgiana's chagrin – taken the mail down overnight. Georgiana had wished to come in their own carriage, pulled by their own horses, and this necessitated a longer journey, so that the horses might rest between stages.

She had no fear of their safety as two young ladies travelling alone, however. Before setting out himself, Matthew had sent Hawke down to the docklands, to find an old shipmate named Robert Bowden, and bring him to Lord Anglesey's house. Georgiana had been quite startled by Bowden's appearance, for he had a strange, milky left eye, and a horrible scar across his forehead, in addition to being quite tall and thickly built. He had served under Matthew on both the Caroline and the Jupiter, and been injured in battle on the latter ship, losing the sight of his eye, and yet upon hearing that the Caroline was to set out again, had come eagerly to his summons. Matthew did not wish him to join the ship, however, and noted gently to the man that an incident which would rob him of the sight in his other eye – and therefore his entire livelihood – was much more likely to befall him on the ship, than in the new employment now offered to him.

That employment, which Bowden had accepted, was to serve as their footman, and it would have been a very brave highwayman indeed who would attempt to molest them with such a fearsome-looking man up behind the carriage. Yet in the course of their slow journey, Georgiana had learned that although Bowden looked quite fierce, and spoke roughly, he was actually a rather kind man. He had clearly been instructed by Matthew to always offer his arm to the young ladies, and although Georgiana had no need of it for walking – she found herself falling asleep frequently during the journey, and so was not tired at all – she did accept his assistance down from the carriage. Catherine, all exuberance at finally being in Portsmouth, and exclaiming over everything she saw, had no need of assistance at all.

The carriage had stopped on The Hard, and Bowden looked about the harbour before finally pointing and crying, "There she is, there's the barky!"

Georgiana followed his arm and saw a ship moored in the harbour, all of its masts up and freshly painted, and looking far finer than her first impression of the Caroline.

"Oh! What a beautiful ship!" exclaimed Catherine, quite echoing Georgiana's thoughts.

Lord Anglesey had loaned them a spare livery uniform for Murray, while theirs were being made up, but had nothing that could fit Bowden, and so he had worn what he called his shore-going rig, a thoroughly naval-looking outfit that must have looked quite odd going out of London. Here, however, he looked like every other sailor about them in his little black hat and white trousers, and had no difficulty hailing a boat to take them to the ship.

The men on the Caroline must have seen them coming, for Matthew was looking over the side at them when the boat touched against the ship. Georgiana was quite struck by this first glimpse of her husband in his own command, standing tall on the deck in full uniform, and looking very much like a man other men would follow into battle. Although the bosun's chair was already being swung over the side. Bowden still called out in an impossibly loud voice that he had Lady Stanton and Miss Bennet, for to join the ship. Upon being set down on the deck and greeted very formally by her husband, Georgiana found herself the focus of many inquisitive stares. She supposed this made sense – most of these men would have served with her husband for many years, and must have a great deal of curiosity about the lady he had married.

Catherine was deposited on deck with a little giggle of delight, and the stares were halted when someone shouted, "Back to work, ye sorry parcel of lubbers!"

"Lady Stanton, Miss Bennet, would you like to come into the cabin?" Matthew asked.

"That would be lovely, Captain Stanton," Georgiana said, and took up his arm as they went down the very steep set of steps in the companionway, and into the great cabin at the stern of the ship.

Only when they were there and the door had closed did Matthew kiss her – chastely, with Catherine present – and ask how their journey had been. Georgiana and Catherine gave him an account of it, Georgiana noting both Murray and Bowden had done well in their duties, and then were asked if they wished to take up rooms at the George, or to stay on board the ship. Georgiana had been hoping for the latter, so that she might spend as much time with Matthew as possible, but had not been entirely certain how much of a possibility it was, and so she had not asked Bowden to bring their trunks in the boat with them.

Catherine, who had taken up a seat on the stern cushions and was looking out the window, as if the Andromeda and Captain Ramsey might come in at any minute, eagerly cried, "Oh, may we stay on board the ship?"

"I would prefer to stay on board, as well, if it is possible to accommodate both of us," Georgiana said, mindful now of her role as a chaperone. "And Hughes, of course. She remained behind in the carriage."

"Certainly. You and I shall share the sleeping cabin, and if Catherine does not mind sharing the dining cabin with Hughes, we will hang two cots there – we may put a curtain up, to create some separation of the space," Matthew said, for the captain's space on the ship was made up of a great cabin at the very back of the ship, and two smaller side cabins that led to it, which he pointed to as he spoke.

"I do not mind at all," said Catherine, cheerily.

"I shall send Bowden back for your trunks, then," Matthew said. "And then if you are not too tired, I may give you a tour of the ship."

Georgiana replied that she was not tired at all, and they would very much enjoy a tour of the ship. They walked out through the dining cabin, and down the length of the ship, with its great guns gleaming. Catherine made her way along easily, but Georgiana – like her tall husband – had to walk in a stooped manner to avoid hitting her head. They went down another level, into a much dimmer space, there being no guns here with their ports open, to let in the light, and were shown the officers' gunroom and cabins, and the midshipmen's mess. Down yet another level, to what Matthew called the orlop deck, and here it was so dark lanterns were required, for as he told them, they were now below the waterline.

In this space, they met a grey, grizzled old man, who had what appeared to be an operating theatre set up – a set of trunks, upon which had been set a piece of canvas and a variety of surgical instruments. Matthew introduced the man as his surgeon, Mr. Clerkwell, and if Georgiana had not already been exceedingly inclined to like him, for successfully treating Matthew's injuries following the battle with the Polonais, she would most certainly have disliked him. He greeted the ladies brusquely, before saying to Matthew:

"An' 'ow am I supposed to work down here, with it so awful dark? Twas twice as bright in t' Jupiter."

"Clerkwell, you managed quite well for five years down here; I have no doubt you shall manage again," Matthew said. "We will send down more lanterns, if you have need of them."

"I just tol' you I 'ave need of more light," grumbled Clerkwell, to which Matthew only shook his head, and invited the ladies to come forward.

He showed them the forepeak, a small little space in the bow of the ship, which he indicated to Georgiana would be where she would go, if ever on board the ship when it went into action, and then they went back up, to the deck of the ship. There, they met with a man in a lieutenant's uniform, who looked every bit as amiable as Mr. Clerkwell was sour. He was introduced as Lieutenant Rigby, now first lieutenant of the ship, as Matthew's longstanding first lieutenant, Campbell, had been promoted to Commander following the action against the Polonais. Rigby was all enthusiasm to meet the ladies he had heard so much about, and made them a very gallant bow.

They returned to the great cabin to find a fine variety of little cakes, fruits, and a pitcher of lemonade being laid down on the table by Hawke, which quite surprised and pleased Georgiana. Wishing to make up for her lack of proper response the last time she had seen the ship, she said, "The Caroline is a very beautiful ship. I am glad to have a chance to see her with everything in place."

This elicited the pleased countenance she had wished for, and Matthew said, "Yes, I am very glad to have her again, although we still need to shift the bowsprit. The Caroline likes hers higher, and my new second lieutenant, Holmes, did not know of it."

Neither Georgiana nor Catherine had much opinion on bowsprits, and so they refocused their attention on the food. When she had finished eating, Catherine, perhaps sensing that her companions would wish for some time to themselves, asked if she might take her sketchbook up on the deck, for she was wild to begin to capture all of the things she saw in the harbour.

Bowden was summoned to take her up and find a comfortable place where she would not be disrupted, and once they had left, Georgiana rose and found herself facing her husband, and then being kissed very thoroughly. He encouraged her to come sit on the stern cushions, where it was more comfortable, and asked if she had been able to see Dr. Whittling before departing London.

"Yes – Lady Tonbridge was very kind to go with me," she said. "Dr. Whittling confirms I am with child, and says the dizziness is normal. One of his patients is a baroness who he says fainted nearly every day she was in the family way, and yet still had a very large family."

"That is a relief to me, to hear – I am very glad you were able to see him before we sail," Matthew said. "Is there any other news from London?"

"Not from London," Georgiana said. "But I have had a troubling letter from Edward – he wrote that he was obliged to dismiss Monsieur Laquerre, and hire on another lawyer to work on Madame Durand's case."

"That is troubling indeed – did he explain why?"

"It seems Monsieur Laquerre told Madame Durand that he had not been paid for any of his services."

"But that is complete nonsense. We paid him in full for everything he had done before we left Paris, and made very clear that he was to direct all future bills to us."

"I believe he thought Madame Durand was unaware of this arrangement. It seems the lawyer was quite taken with her and wished to offer her _alternative_ means of paying him," Georgiana said, blushing hotly.

"That scoundrel! If only I could sail back to Paris and show him what I think of propositioning a poor, respectable widow in such a way."

"I believe Edward has already done all that you would have wished for, in that quarter. He wrote that he convinced the lawyer to return all that we had paid him already, and is using it to pay the new lawyer. You can imagine the means he used to convince the man."

"I can indeed, and I am very glad he was in Paris and willing to take this on. It is another thing that makes me much easier at mind."

* * *

Over the next few days, Georgiana and Catherine fell into a strange new pattern of life, on board the Caroline. They were often on deck, watching the activities of the crew as the ship was readied, and supplies came on board, and they soon learned where they could and could not sit, so as not to be in the way. Sometimes, there was some operation complicated enough that it required Matthew or Lieutenant Rigby to invite them to go down and sit in the great cabin instead, and they came to treat that space as if it were a drawing room. When Matthew was occasionally free, he would take them ashore, to ride around Portsmouth in the landau, pointing out the various sights around the town.

They dined in the great cabin every evening, as well, and Georgiana was once again surprised at the ease with which Matthew kept his table there. He had his own cook, and although the recipes were perhaps heartier and less delicate than might be found on land, it was all quite good. As well, he invited at least some of his officers and acquaintances from Portsmouth to dine every evening, and presided quietly over the conversation, needing to do little to help it along with Catherine at the table, and eager to learn all that she could of the ways of the ship and town. A few of the acquaintances enjoyed music, and those who did were invited to remain in the cabin following dinner, to hear Matthew play his cello, and Georgiana her new square pianoforte, which had come in by carrier. Catherine's accomplishments were not ignored on these evenings, either, for their company was always eager to look at her very fine attempts to capture in watercolour the spectacular fiery sunsets that occurred nearly every evening.

Of the officers, Georgiana found she most liked Lieutenant Rigby, and the master, Mr. Travis, whose main achievement in Georgiana's eyes was living on board with his wife, an amiable older woman who dined with them when he did. Like Georgiana, Mrs. Travis would be leaving the ship during the mission to the Baltic, but Georgiana was pleased to think she would perhaps have such pleasant company on a future journey. As well, she could not help but be amused by Mr. Clerkwell, who could not go a quarter-hour without grousing about something or other; Matthew had admitted privately to her that the old man grew more irascible every year, but was tolerated because he had been with Matthew since his first command, and was very good at his work.

In this time there were two events of significance. The first was that Hughes, after having rather shakily dressed Georgiana the first morning of their living on board, said she did not think she could remain on the ship any longer. The immediate solution to this was that she be rowed ashore and a room let for her at the Keppel's Head, within sight of the Caroline. Yet it also meant that Georgiana and Hughes could not continue on in optimism that all would work out, with Hughes's seasickness. Bolstered by Matthew's intelligence that even Nelson was seasick for the first few days on board, they had hoped that Hughes would eventually become attuned to the swaying of the ship, but she only grew worse, not better, even with the ship merely at anchor. Georgiana had grown teary-eyed, upon Hughes telling her she could remain in her position a few months more, while her ladyship was on land, but then must look for something new, although she could not begrudge poor Hughes for it, for the maid looked every bit as upset as Georgiana felt.

The second, happier event, had come one morning while they were all on deck. One of the sailors had called out from his perch, well up on the mainmast, "Small frigate, hull-up off Spithead!"

This caused both Georgiana and Catherine to look up rather sharply, and see Matthew climbing up to the masthead as nimbly as any of the men. Once there, he pulled out a spyglass, peered through it for some time, and then descended quite rapidly by sliding down one of the stays leading from the mast.

"Lieutenant Holmes, lower the barge and ready the bosun's chair, if you please," he said, and then pointed to something Georgiana could not see. "And when you find the lubber who coiled that line, he is to have his grog stopped for two days, for he must have been drunk to do it thus on a King's ship."

Georgiana took care to hide her smile as Matthew made her way over to where she and Catherine were standing, on the quarterdeck at the rear of the ship. There were occasionally times, like this one, when Matthew the ship's captain seemed an entirely different person than Matthew her husband, and she did not think he would appreciate how diverting she found him at these times.

"Miss Bennet," Matthew said, "I believe that ship is the Andromeda. I do not know of any other twenty-eight gun frigates expected in."

Catherine was as thrilled with this news as would be expected, gasping and pressing her hand to her heart. She was still more thrilled when the ship came closer, and was proved to be the Andromeda, and when Matthew gave her loan of his spyglass, so that she could look through it and see her fiancé, standing there on the quarterdeck of his own ship. Captain Ramsey may have noticed the Caroline, but he had no reason to suspect his future wife to be on board, and he paid it no particular notice until the barge pulled away from the ship, carrying Catherine, Georgiana and Matthew.

"Larboard side," Matthew told the men as they rowed. "There is no need for ceremony."

"Would there be a ceremony if we arrived on the starboard side?" asked Catherine, who rather thought seeing her fiancé for the first time in more than half a year deserving of a bit of ceremony.

"Yes, but for myself as captain of another ship, to be received formally," Matthew said. "I feel fairly certain your presence will be the more noteworthy one, and it should not be delayed."

This response pleased Catherine, but not so much as seeing Captain Ramsey standing there on the larboard side of the ship, staring down at them with a look of open delight. Catherine waved at him, blushed prettily, and was quite impatient at the pace at which the bosun's chair was lowered down. When she was on board, however, she found herself received as formally as Georgiana had been, with Captain Ramsey taking her hand and bowing to her, although with the happiest of countenances.

It was only when the couples had retired to the Andromeda's great cabin that Captain Ramsey said, "My lovely Catherine, this is the finest surprise that ever was. I have missed you so very much, and had thought I had at least a few more days before I could be in your presence."

Catherine responded by throwing herself into his arms and exclaiming over how very much she had missed him, as well, which prompted Matthew to murmur, "We are not very good chaperones, are we?"

Georgiana smiled, and agreed, but like him, could not bring herself to say anything against such a happy reunion, particularly for a couple who had been engaged before them, yet had not had opportunity to marry. They allowed Catherine and Captain Ramsey a few more minutes before Matthew finally cleared his throat, prompting them to separate.

Now Captain Ramsey turned his attention to his friend, exclaiming, "Stanton! You lunatic! A French seventy-four?"

"It was not quite so much lunacy as you make it out to be."

"You will have to give me a full account of it, and then I shall judge whether it was or no."

"Dine with us this evening, then, on the Caroline, and you will have your account."

"That would be capital," Captain Ramsey said. "And I in turn shall tell you of the privateer we captured. It is no ship of the line, but I daresay it will pay for a few more pins, for Catherine."

Captain Ramsey's steward came in with the sort of meagre refreshments that could be provided after having been at sea in support of a blockade, although they all partook of them, so as not to slight such a genial host. When they were all seated, Captain Ramsey raised his glass, and said, "Do not think I have forgotten to congratulate you on your marriage. I toast you both. And a damned good thing it is, too. You should have seen him during the carriage ride down to Portsmouth, Lady Stanton, moping about with the longest face in the world."

Georgiana usually enjoyed Captain Ramsey's teasing of his friend, and the good-natured way in which the man who was now her husband took it. The time Captain Ramsey spoke of, however, had been one of a great deal of unhappiness for her, and it was clear by Matthew's countenance that it had been the same for him. She took up his hand silently under the table, by way of reminding him – as well as herself – that at the very least those days were over. They might again be apart, but at least now they would part with the certainty that they loved one another.


	18. Part 1, Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

For some days, Mr. Darcy's countenance had been a touch lighter than was usual, even for a man happily married, and eagerly awaiting the birth of his first child. Pemberley's staff knew this to be his usual eager anticipation for the first hunt of the season, an understanding also reached by his quick-witted wife, despite a lack of these many years of experience with Pemberley's fox hunting season.

She was surprised, therefore, to come into his study the day before the hunt, and find him frowning over a letter. She was even more surprised to learn it was from Georgiana, and that the news contained within was that Matthew had been given command of the Caroline, and would be going to the Baltic without Georgiana. These things, however, were not what most troubled Darcy.

"She does not indicate where she will go, once Matthew leaves. I suppose the London season will be coming up soon enough, so perhaps she will continue to stay with Lord Anglesey. But why would she not think of coming to Pemberley? Particularly with you so near to the birth. I do not understand it."

"I believe she may see it as a matter of more delicacy than you do," Elizabeth said, sitting heavily and resting her hands on her belly. "She is a married woman now; Pemberley is not formally her home."

"That does not mean she is not welcome here."

"No, and nor does it mean she may not wish to come here. But I do not assume I may simply appear at Longbourn whenever I wish – we always write, to arrange it in advance. My father did made a surprise appearance here at Pemberley, but I fully own it was a bit irregular, and I do not see Georgiana behaving thus."

"Do you think she will come up, then, if I write to invite her?"

"I think it likely she will, and you may add that I would very much like her here for my birth. It might also be worth noting that Bess is much quieter, these days, and that she could make a contribution in that quarter. We certainly could do with her skills on the pianoforte."

"I will do so, then. I shall also mention the hunt, as well, and remind her that Grace is still here."

"I think you are well on your way to making her feel quite guilty if she does _not_ come to Pemberley."

"I cannot say I wish to go that far, but I will make the case for her coming here as best I may."

"And I suspect that even if you do not, she will still accept your invitation," Elizabeth said, then, after some hesitation, continued, "Darcy, I know since your father's death, your role towards Georgiana has been more like a father than a brother, but I suspect now you shall have to find your way back to being more of a brother."

"You are right, and I am well aware of it," he said. "I cannot say that I find it easy, however. Perhaps once I am a father to my own child, it will become easier."

"I suspect it shall. If nothing else, our child will provide quite a distraction from all else," Elizabeth said, then exclaimed, "Oh!"

"What is it? Is something the matter?"

"No, quite the opposite. The baby just kicked," she said, wishing that it would do so again, so that Darcy might come over and see if he could feel it as well, but her baby was not nearly so active as Bess had been, keeping poor Jane up half the night with her kicking, even before being born.

"Are we always to call it _the baby_, or might you be willing to discuss names?"

"No names, absolutely not, before he or she is born, and we know whether it is he or she," said Elizabeth, for she had a superstitious fear that even thinking of a boy's name too much might be the cause of a string of daughters.

"You fear pressing our luck?"

"Yes, I do. I would rather not think about it until after the birth," she said, groaning as she rose and went over to kiss him, before she would leave his study.

"I understand," Darcy said. "And you needn't leave to close the topic."

"No, I leave for other reasons. You have a letter to write, and I need to speak with Mrs. Reynolds, to ensure all is ready for the hunt. Do give Georgiana my best."

* * *

The morning of the hunt dawned crisp and cool, with not even a hint of rain present, a relief to all. Elizabeth could not bring herself to be particularly keen on the idea of her husband and Charles careening across the countryside and over any number of fences and hedgerows even on firm ground, and she had feared rain would turn the pursuit muddy, and even more dangerous.

They were not having a large house party, so the hunt was to comprise only local gentlemen, as well as any farmers who kept a suitable horse and wished to join – their reward in exchange for any upheaval of their fields which might occur. Darcy kept not one but four hunters; his favourite horse, Kestrel, was too valuable as a stud to use for hunting, but the grey he rode as he trotted up to the front of the house looked quite fine to Elizabeth's eye. He, Charles, and Richardson came up together, the hounds and their keepers following behind them.

Elizabeth had refused Mrs. Reynolds's offer of a chair, and was standing beside Jane, waiting as their neighbours gathered. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair were first, the gentleman trotting along beside his wife's carriage. Mrs. Sinclair alighted her carriage followed by her lady's maid, and a footman holding a small valise, for Elizabeth had invited wives, sisters, and daughters to sit in the saloon during the hunt, and stay for dinner following, which would require a change of dresses. Most of the other married couples made similar arrivals, although a few of the ladies did come on horseback, wishing to ride out with the hunt.

"Was Charles disappointed you chose not to ride out?" Elizabeth asked Jane.

"A little, but he knows how long it has been since I have ridden," said Jane. "And I would much rather stay behind and worry over them with you."

"Indeed, I fear we shall be a fretful bunch, in the saloon, but at least we may fret together instead of separately, in our own homes. There is something to be said for that, I suppose."

"And both of our husbands are excellent riders," said Jane. "I take some comfort in that."

The husbands she spoke of, after having greeted all of the men, rode over to where Elizabeth and Jane were standing.

"I believe we have everyone who was expected, although a few more may join in when they hear the horn sound," Darcy said.

Elizabeth walked closer to his horse, and laid her hand on his knee, saying, "Please do be careful out there."

"I shall," Darcy said. "I love a good hunt, but you know I am not one of those neck-or-nothing sporting sorts, and neither, fortunately, are most of these men. Closer to London, you get that type of hunt, but here we all look at it as a fine country outing. If the timing had been different, you might have ridden out with us to get a better sense of it."

"The timing would have needed to be exceedingly different, Darcy, for I believe you would have been quite embarrassed by your wife's riding out on Buttercup," Elizabeth said, referring to Pemberley's stout old pony, whom she had learned to ride on.

Darcy laughed heartily, "Very true. After the baby is born, _and_ you have graduated to a cob, perhaps then you might ride out with the hunt."

His countenance became troubled, and Elizabeth followed his gaze to see Mr. and Mrs. Cambert riding up. They had been invited, but neither Elizabeth nor Darcy had expected they would come, as their men of business had been settling the sale of the Camberts's land with nary a word on the matter from that party.

"I expect this shall change the nature of the mood in the saloon," Darcy said. "At least she is riding, so she shall not be there the entire time."

"We will manage," Elizabeth said. "I would rather they come; it feels more neighbourly this way. I will follow her lead on whether she wishes to speak of the land."

"I had better go and greet them," Darcy said. "I shall see you before dinner."

Darcy trotted over to the Camberts and greeted them cordially. But Elizabeth, who had not offered anything stronger than claret cup as a pre-hunt refreshment, frowned to see that as soon as her husband left him, Mr. Cambert pulled out a flask and offered it to some of the gentlemen around him. Thankfully, none of them took up the offer, and Elizabeth was soon enough distracted by one of the hounds, who had strayed from the pack and stood looking affectionately at her, as though his greatest wish in the world was to be petted. Elizabeth leaned over as best she could and obliged him, but was eventually interrupted by the keepers calling all the hounds in, and at this, the dog raced away. This, and a low rumbling of hooves, signalled that the hunt was to begin.

Those who had not been eagerly awaiting this beginning made haste to set down their cups on the trays offered to them by the footmen, and a great long string of riders followed the hounds, hooves clopping over the low stone bridge that crossed the stream. They were visible for quite some time, and all of the ladies who had remained at the house gathered near the door and watched them before they would go inside.

Even when they were out of sight, Elizabeth could still hear the hounds baying, and, eventually, the horn, and she said a quick prayer for the safety of all before making her way into the house, all of the other ladies following her. They were met in the saloon by Mary, who had no interest in the hunt – perhaps she might have, if David Stanton could have been convinced to stay for that event, but he had felt compelled to return to his duties at Wincham, two days after the bonfire.

One of the ladies expressed a desire to see little Elizabeth Bingley, which was quickly taken up by the rest, and the baby was brought down from the nursery. Bess obliged them by being quiet for a good quarter-hour, as she was passed amongst the ladies to be held, but then made up for this by descending into hysterics, so that she must be quickly carried off by poor Mrs. Padgett.

Following this, the ladies settled into conversation, and their occupations of choice; some had brought needlework, and Elizabeth led an expedition to the library, for any that chose to select a book. From the saloon's broad windows, they could see the approach of the carriages holding the lady's maids and valises for those ladies who had ridden out with the hunt, and later the return of those ladies on their horses. It was some time before they were all dressed and entering the saloon, followed immediately by the footmen with refreshments, and these things caused some rearrangement of the ladies' chosen seats, as well as some enlivening of the conversation.

"I must say, Mrs. Darcy, this is quite handsomely done, particularly for someone so much in the family way," said Mrs. Sinclair, who had thoroughly availed herself of the fruit cut from the pinery that morning. "It was good of Mr. Darcy to have his steward arrange a few hunts while you were in town last year, but this is far better, to have some society for the ladies while we wait."

"I fully agree," said Mrs. Kinsley, who was to be the subject of more hospitality than most; her husband's estate bordered that of Clareborne Manor, and was therefore far enough away that the Kinsleys had been invited to stay overnight. "Mr. Kinsley says his father always used to say, you can leave it to the Darcys to do well by the neighbourhood. He was speaking of the previous generation of Darcys, but I believe we may say the same for this one."

Elizabeth would have blushed at their compliments and thanked them, but before she could speak, Mrs. Cambert was saying, "Indeed, you can always trust the Darcys to do the _best_ for the neighbourhood. How very fortunate we all are to have them."

She said it in the coldest possible tone, and as Elizabeth looked around, she could see that many of the ladies present knew what she meant by it. That the Darcys were the party purchasing the land from Barrowmere Park would not yet have been made public, but certainly many of their husbands would have followed that the land had been for sale, and now was removed from the market. Those who knew of this must necessarily assume that the party making the purchase was that of Pemberley.

"I thank you all," Elizabeth said, but she would go no further in censure of Mrs. Cambert than to say, "Mr. Darcy and I are committed to doing whatever we may to ensure the happiness and stability of the neighbourhood."

"And glad we are to hear it," said Mrs. Sinclair. "Indeed, the thought of stability makes me think to ask Mrs. Bingley how the construction gets on with the new house at Clareborne Manor."

"It is progressing well," Jane said. "Things will slow during the winter, of course, but we hope by next autumn to have at least some portion of the house we may live in."

"Oh, how delightful," Mrs. Sinclair said. "I do rather like the thought of building a house anew – everything exactly suited to your taste."

They discussed the Bingleys's plans for the new house for some time, so that nearly all had forgotten Mrs. Cambert's coldness, although the discussion of a new house caused that lady's countenance to sour even further. And if Mrs. Cambert had been unhappy before, she became far more so when a groom was seen leading a horse up to the house, upon which sat her husband. Mr. Cambert's arm was in a makeshift sling, and as he came closer all could see his face contorted in pain.

With a cry, Mrs. Cambert fled to the entrance-hall, and was let outside by Mr. Parker. Elizabeth followed her, but could not move so quickly, and by the time she had come outside, Mrs. Cambert was berating her husband for being a fool who could not even stay on his horse, much less hold on to his fortune. It was left to the groom to inform Elizabeth that Mr. Cambert had taken a fall going over a jump, and thought his arm had been broken.

"Mr. Parker, please have a carriage readied and someone sent to Matlock, for Dr. Alderman," Elizabeth said, which alerted Mrs. Cambert to her presence.

"It is not enough for you to take what remains of our estate, is it?" she asked. "No, you must also hold a hunt."

Elizabeth gaped at her for a moment, and thought of a great many things to say in response. These things largely centered on it neither being her fault that Mr. Cambert had gambled away his fortune, nor that he had imbibed something out of a flask that morning which had likely led to his being unhorsed. She could not bring herself to speak in a way that would mock or be cruel to a woman in Mrs. Cambert's situation, however, and so she said only, "I am terribly sorry to see anyone hurt at a hunt. We are readying a carriage to go for Dr. Alderman. Until he arrives, perhaps Mr. Cambert would be most comfortable waiting in the bedroom belonging to the dressing room you had been using?"

"I suppose so."

"Mr. Parker will see you both assisted there, then."

* * *

It was perhaps unfortunate to think of it as such, but Mr. Cambert's injury necessarily benefited the rest of the hunt party. It was confirmed to be broken by Dr. Alderman, and dressed according to Larrey's method, and following this it was determined best by the Camberts that they return home, so that Mr. Cambert could take his laudanum and rest most comfortably. They went off in their carriage as the remainder of the party was changing for dinner, and Elizabeth found the conversation was made lighter – at least at her end of the table – for their absence.

It continued so in the drawing room, but thankfully on this evening their guests did not wish to linger. The gentlemen had enjoyed a fine hunt, although they had not caught their fox, which perhaps made it an even finer day, as it necessitated another hunt. The ladies had enjoyed all that Pemberley had to offer, and some of them had a lovely ride out, yet like the gentlemen, they were all quite ready to return to hearth and home. After the least amount of time which might be deemed respectable, upon the gentleman having drank a sufficient quantity of port and brandy and come in to the drawing room, they all began calling for their carriages, most of the hunters already having been returned by groom.

Thus, while Elizabeth had expected to be too exhausted to relate the entirety of her interactions with Mrs. Cambert to Darcy, she found them both in his bedchamber not long after the usual hour in which they retired, and told him of all that had occurred.

"I must admit her logic quite baffles me," he said. "They would be even worse off, financially, if we did not purchase the land. This last parcel is nearly entirely surrounded by what remains of their lands, and Pemberley's. Do they truly believe someone else would have purchased it?"

"I do not believe she is thinking logically, Darcy. It cannot be easy to watch their estate disintegrate, particularly when the debts are her husband's."

"True, but that is not any fault of ours. If she would have paid you any kindness at all, I would be inclined to treat her with a great amount of sympathy and assistance."

"Perhaps we should do so anyway, particularly with his arm broken now; I will send them a basket of fruit tomorrow, with a note of apology for his injury."

"A note of sympathy, not apology. He has a poor enough seat when he is sober – the fall was his fault alone."

"Fine, then, a note of sympathy," Elizabeth said, and then, for she was tired of speaking of the Camberts, "I hope you enjoyed the hunt."

"I did, very much," he said. "Would you mind terribly if we scheduled another?"

"Not at all. I know eventually my society will be significantly reduced, and I quite enjoyed today, excepting what happened with the Camberts, and Mr. Cambert certainly cannot attend the next with a broken arm."

"Excellent, let us decide on a day tomorrow, then, and send our invitations."

"Yes, although this next time you had better catch your fox, or I will begin to believe you preserve his life so that you may have more attempts at chasing after him, and surely someone's poor, innocent chickens must pay the price."


	19. Part 1, Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

Georgiana woke with the sound of scrubbing above her head; they were holystoning the deck, and unlike her husband, she had yet to learn how to sleep through such a noise, although she had by now mostly learned to ignore the bells every half-hour. She did not mind, however, for waking in this way allowed her at least a few minutes before nausea set in, where she might lay in her cot, swinging slightly, as sleep left her.

Matthew was in a cot beside her, and this was one problem she thought would need to be rectified, if she were ever to live on board for a longer period of time; she would have much preferred a cot that could hold both of them, for she missed having him immediately beside her. Aside from this detail, however, and her inability to forget that soon they would be separated by more than the sides of hanging cots, Georgiana might have counted the last few days among the happiest of her life.

Not a day had passed when they did not dine with Captain Ramsey, either inviting him over to the Caroline, or going themselves to the Andromeda. He was as talkative and amiable as ever he had been, and it was not possible to look at he and Catherine without feeling happiness for the reunited couple. After some time to discuss their wedding plans, loosely chaperoned by Georgiana in the Andromeda's cabin, the couple had asked if Georgiana thought the Darcys would be amenable to Catherine's being married out of Pemberley.

This had been a surprise, at first, although once Catherine explained their reasons, it had made a good deal of sense. The Bennets would be returning to Pemberley soon enough, anyway, for the birth of Elizabeth's child, and so they might be married soon after Elizabeth's confinement was over. Catherine did not think Elizabeth would be ready to travel for some time, and she could not see herself being married without the presence of the sister who had given her the London season that had seen her meet Captain Ramsey. And, as Catherine confessed later to Georgiana, holding the wedding at Pemberley would lessen Mrs. Bennet's role in the planning, which Catherine, who had grown more short of temper where her mother was concerned, thought perhaps the greatest benefit.

Georgiana – who had received as effusive a letter as her brother ever wrote, inviting her to come to Pemberley – thought Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth would be very much for the scheme, and encouraged Catherine to write to them expressing her wishes. The response to Catherine's letter had, quite handsomely, come delivered by a groom riding on the estate's baggage cart, which had been left to their disposal for their trip north.

The Andromeda was by now paid off, and Captain Ramsey had arranged for six months of leave by correspondence with the Admiralty, so were it not for the Caroline's continued presence in port, they might have begun the journey. The Caroline was still in port, however, fully victualled and awaiting only the despatches she was to carry.

Georgiana felt the first stirrings of nausea, and made her exit from the cot much more gracefully than she had during her first mornings on the ship, using the fire bucket which had been left on the floor for her particular needs. When she finished, she pulled a thick shawl around her shoulders and reflected on how right Matthew was about the wooden walls of a frigate – even with one of the coal braziers going in the sleeping cabin, it was still quite cold. Georgiana made her way into the great cabin and thought to take up a book, but once she had sat down on the stern cushion, she found the action outside the window far more interesting. Small boats plied the harbour nearly constantly – some pleasure craft, some fishermen, and others bound for some naval ship or another – and there was something quite beautiful about so many ships under sail on a fine, crisp morning.

"If it were not wholly scandalous, I would ask Catherine to paint you, just as you are now," Matthew said, entering the cabin.

"I believe that would sink us even further as chaperones than we are currently, although I believe some of the Parisian fashions were more revealing even than my dressing gown and shawl."

"Indeed they were," he said, laughing softly. "In truth, I am glad to find you in a quiet moment, for I have been looking for the right time to give you this."

He sat beside her on the stern cushion and quite astonished her by handing over a little jeweller's box, inside which was a dainty necklace, with an anchor as its pendant, sparkling in the morning sunshine.

"I hope it is to your liking," Matthew said.

"It is very much to my liking," Georgiana said, blinking back tears. "I will wear it every day, and think of you. I feel poorly that I have no similar gift for you."

"But you are not the one leaving for several months, and you have made four shirts for me."

"Shirts are not the same as a necklace, Matthew, particularly one so fine as this," Georgiana said, although tenderly, so charmed was she that he would even think to equate them.

"Not to a lady, perhaps, but you have said you will wear this every day, and I shall wear my shirts every day. So to me they are very much the same, except the shirts have been made by your own hands, and therefore must be classed as better," he said, and then continued, in a tone of some embarrassment, "If you are inclined to be giving, though, I would very much like a lock of your hair."

"Of course you may have a lock of my hair," Georgiana said. "Let me find my scissors, and some ribbon."

Georgiana searched through her trunk until she found her sewing scissors and a thin little piece of ribbon, and then returned to the stern cushion, braiding off a little section of her hair and tying it with the ribbon. She was struck with a wildly romantic sensation as she made the cut with her scissors, for this was the sort of thing women in novels did, although the man she handed the lock over to was her own husband. She tried not to think of her dream, and how Mr. Wickham had so violently claimed a lock of her hair.

"There you are," she said.

"Thank you, my dearest," he said, holding the lock with an expression that was both tender and sad, and Georgiana knew exactly how he felt.

* * *

Georgiana could not have known it at the time, but she had bestowed the lock of hair upon her husband only the day before he left her. It was Catherine who noticed the messenger first, having been sitting on the deck with her sketchbook, so that she saw the man ride down Queen Street as fast as any express rider, and pull his horse to a hard stop just before the beach. This event was exclaimed over by Catherine, and then watched carefully by all on board the Caroline.

When it became clear the man on horseback had hired a boat, and that boat was rowing with all possible speed towards the ship, Matthew said, "Georgiana and Catherine, you had best pack up your trunks. I expect these will be our despatches, and if that is the case, we will sail on the next tide."

Georgiana had never been entirely lulled by these lovely, demandless days on board the ship, and yet the speed with which things changed quite stunned her. She and Catherine had been managing their own trunks and helping each other dress, with an hour or so of assistance from Hughes every day, before the maid grew to ill to do any more. Yet now she felt the urgency in Matthew's voice, and did the best she could in packing up her trunk. When she made her way into the great cabin, she saw Hawke and Bowden had already disassembled her pianoforte, and were wrapping the pieces in canvas, and Matthew was sitting at the large table in the middle of the cabin, with four bundles of waxed silk before him, and the contents of a fifth opened and being read.

"Is this it, then?" she asked.

"It is."

"How long before the tide?"

"A few hours more, but it would be best if we said our farewell now," he said. "Things will be quite busy right up until we sail."

Georgiana felt her eyes fill with tears, and she willed herself not to cry openly; she would have to bear this, for it was what she had chosen, in becoming a sailor's wife, if not exactly what she had envisioned. She nodded, but did not yet trust herself to say anything.

"Remember that we carry what may well be the fastest mail," Matthew said. "It is very possible that my letters may be few, or that you will not receive any before I return – please do not let that worry you."

"I will worry no matter what, but I will try not to allow it to add to my worries," Georgiana said. "I only hope it will be as quick as possible."

"I do as well. Perhaps you will hardly notice I am gone."

"I doubt that – you at least will have daily occupation to distract you," Georgiana said, and then, noting his face had fallen further, "There will be Elizabeth's baby, though, and the wedding."

"Yes, and I am glad of it, and that you will be at Pemberley. I wish for you to be happy, always, including while I am gone."

"I will do my best to be so."

They were silent for a few moments, after this, and it felt natural that Matthew should pull her into a tight embrace, and that they should share a long, lingering kiss good-bye. Georgiana wished to absorb every detail of this time, for she knew it would have to sustain her in the months to come. It would not have mattered how long they were thus, for it would always have been too short a time before Matthew released her, and offered his arm so they could walk up to the deck.

Catherine was already waiting in the boat alongside the ship, with an expression far more sombre than was usual for her, and when Georgiana was seated beside her, she clasped her friend's hand and said, simply, "I know how you feel."

Georgiana had decided it would be best to send her own team of horses up slowly, with the baggage cart, and to order post horses for her landau, so that they could make good time in the journey to Pemberley. With both Hughes and Captain Ramsey already staying at the Keppel's Head, it seemed easiest to take rooms there for her and Catherine, and order up the horses through the hotel. There was an additional advantage in the little iron balcony outside her room, from which the Caroline could still be seen, and when Captain Ramsey told her the tide was near, they all went thither to watch.

Even without any assistance, Georgiana could see the Caroline's anchor coming up, but when Captain Ramsey loaned her his glass, she could see the men all around the capstan, pushing with all their might, and her husband, standing there on the quarterdeck. Even before the anchor was stowed alongside the ship, one of the sails dropped down from the foremast, puffing out as the wind hit it. With that, the ship made a little ghostly movement forward; another sail, and with purpose the Caroline started toward the mouth of the harbour.

Georgiana had been watching the sails, and found when she turned the glass toward the quarterdeck, that Matthew was looking back at her through his own glass. He waved to her, she waved back, and that was to be her last glimpse of him for several months.


	20. Part 1, Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

On such a long journey, and with the day of their departure uncertain, the timing of the arrival of Lady Stanton, Miss Bennet and Captain Ramsey could not be predicted, nor the appearance of the carriage they were to come in. When an unfamiliar landau came up the drive, pulled by the team of horses that had been sent on to the last posting inn, however, it was clear enough to all that these were the expected guests. Further confirmation was given when the landau came closer and a rather rough-looking footman, who could only have been a former seaman, was seen riding up on the back. This intelligence caused happiness on the part of all who heard it, excepting Cook, who was horrified at their coming so close to dinner.

The lateness of the arrival meant that they must all become reacquainted over dinner, for there was hardly time for them to change and go into the blue drawing room before it was time to go in. The residents of Pemberley inquired after the journey, which had been just tolerable in the landau, not designed to go such distances regularly. They then turned to all that had happened in Portsmouth, and before, and were treated in great detail to the Andromeda's taking of the French privateer, and Georgiana and Catherine's time aboard the Caroline.

It was only well into the second remove that conversation turned to how those at Pemberley had been, and during this time, Charles noted with great enthusiasm that there had been a very fine hunt to begin the season.

"Ah, yes, it was quite a good outing," Darcy said. "We have another planned for next week, Georgiana, if you wish to join us. And Catherine and Captain Ramsey as well, if you wish – we have hunters enough here to provide you all with mounts."

Catherine replied that she did not ride; Captain Ramsey that he did, but had not been in the saddle for years, and was therefore not yet up to a hunt. This left Darcy staring expectantly at Georgiana, who had been largely quiet that evening, and to Elizabeth's eye looked to be a little melancholy, although Elizabeth understood it thoroughly, to be faced with such a long separation from her husband.

"I shall ride out with you, but I do not think I will hunt," Georgiana said.

"I have seen you and Grace clear jumps well over the height of anything we encountered in the last hunt," Darcy said. "I beg you will at least consider participating in the full hunt."

"If circumstances were otherwise, I might," said Georgiana, turning quite crimson. "I am in the family way, so I do not think it wise to hunt this season."

Elizabeth was not entirely certain how many of those seated at the table exclaimed, "So soon?" She knew that she had, however, and was fairly certain Darcy did as well. These exclamations only made Georgiana's apparent mortification worse, but before Elizabeth could bring herself to say anything in comfort to her sister, she was first required to deal with a substantial wave of jealousy. It had taken more than a year before Elizabeth had found herself with child; she had despaired at times of ever having one, and feared herself barren. Yet here was Georgiana, not even a half-year married and barely nineteen years of age, and already expecting her first child.

Catherine recovered from the news first, exclaiming, "Oh, congratulations! How wonderful!" This roused the rest of the table into their own congratulations and best wishes, although Darcy seemed too stunned to offer more than the most basic of felicitations.

He was quiet in the drawing room, but little conversation from him was needed, as they were looking over Georgiana's sketches of Paris, and Catherine's of Portsmouth, with all the attendant queries and descriptions on what was found in each sketchbook, so that they all passed a rather lively evening. It was only when she came into his bedchamber that evening that Elizabeth learned her husband was rather more angry, than stunned.

"I would not say anything in front of the others, but if Captain Stanton were here, I would give him such a piece of my mind, you would hear me halfway to Matlock," he said.

"Whatever for?"

"Whatever for? My sister is with child!"

"Darcy, when you gave your consent to their marriage, you must have expected this would happen eventually," Elizabeth said. "You make him sound as though he is George Wickham, instead of a baronet, who will of course wish to pass his title down."

"Well, he is hardly at Wickham's level," he said. "But he did get her with child just in time to leave her on her own for several months. You have read Georgiana's letters, what she wrote about the risk of the ship being frozen in. What if something happens to him, and she is widowed before the baby is even born?"

"I recall you at the time thinking it was for the best that she did not go with him, so I hardly see where he had other options aside from refusing the command, at the peril of his career."

"I would rather him put his career in peril than his life, when the latter must affect Georgiana so much more substantially than the former, given their fortune."

"And yet you put your life at risk without the purpose of a career, unless you count hunting as part of touring the estate grounds, which is quite a stretch."

"So now this has turned into an indictment of my hunting?" he cried.

Elizabeth sighed, and shook her head. "Darcy, I am very tired, and not not in spirits to argue tonight. I have no desire to ask you to give up something which gives you so much enjoyment. I only wished you would see that Matthew's career also gives him a great deal of enjoyment, although also with a _small_ risk to his life, now that there is peace."

Elizabeth had spoken honestly; she was quite fatigued, and had no energy for the sort of argument two people so passionate as she and Darcy could, on occasion, have. She had not intended for her words to doubly impact him, and yet it seemed they had, for when he spoke, after a pause of some duration, he said:

"You shame me, my dearest Elizabeth, and thankfully you call me out for an unfortunate degree of prejudice, against a man towards whom I should have none, and prevent me from vexing a lady in whose condition I should be loathe to vex."

"Let us not go that far, Darcy. I will not deny you have had quite irrational thoughts towards a man who gave you no reason for them, but he is not here, and I am not entirely vexed, merely tired."

"Still, you are in the right of it. You have long been attempting to convince me that I must treat Georgiana more as a sister, now, than a girl whose guardianship I have held. I hear her say she is in the family way, and immediately feel the worst, as if she was still unwed."

"And I will allow that she _is_ very young to be having a child, but no more so than any of the other young ladies her age who have married," Elizabeth said. "It cannot be easy for her, particularly with him from home. But you must remember how low her spirits were, when she was uncertain of his affections, and they are not remotely so low now."

"No, they are not, thank God."

"Then you might turn your energies towards a more useful purpose, and begin convincing her to have the baby here. We shall quite fill up the nursery, and it will be wonderful."

"Only so long as our newer additions are not quite so loud as Bess was, in the beginning. There is no guarantee they will all be placated by the pianoforte."

Elizabeth chuckled, and leaned over to kiss him good-night. "Perhaps for this one, it shall be the cello."

* * *

The nursery was the focus of much attention the day following, for Bess had not been seen by her aunts in some time, and she was in a far better state to be seen than she had been the last time both Georgiana and Catherine had been at Pemberley. Mrs. Padgett had taken her down to the music room already for a few turns through "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," and so she was quite content to be held by each of her aunts, in turn. When she was calm, Bess promised to be every bit as handsome as her parents, although it remained to be seen whether she would become as amiable, once she grew older.

When Elizabeth, Jane, and Mary also came in, Mrs. Nichols, who was always endeavouring to make herself useful before her charge was born, brought in additional chairs from the sitting room down the hall, and then allowed her son to be passed around and held, as well. Georgiana had not met her Fitzwilliam nieces until they were older, and so her only experience with babies so young as these had come with Bess's birth – and Bess could hardly have been called a model infant, when last Georgiana had seen her. She found herself becoming a little more attuned to the idea of having a baby of her own, holding Bess and George in turn. There was something exceedingly lovely about the soft, pudgy bundles in her arms, and the distinct, powdery smell of the babies.

"Georgiana, I do not believe you mentioned last night when your child is to come," Elizabeth said.

"June, or possibly July of next year, Dr. Whittling believes. I saw him, in London."

"Was Matthew as fussy about the visit as Darcy was? I thought he might wear a path in the carpet of Dr. Whittling's sitting room."

"Matthew had already gone down to Portsmouth. He had very little time in London, once we learned of his assignment."

"Did you go by yourself?" asked Jane, with an expression of some horror on her face.

"No, Lady Tonbridge went with me," Georgiana said, and could not help thinking about what a kind sacrifice it had been for that lady to do so. Lady Tonbridge had confessed a little of her own history with children, which had been fraught with miscarriages, and never seen a baby live more than a few days. It had been very hard on her, although made easier by the kindness of Lord Tonbridge, who could afford to be kind, having already produced an heir with his first wife.

Bess chose this moment to halt Georgiana's recollections, and any discourse in the room, by wriggling in Mary's lap, which prompted her holder to say, "Oh, we must get her back to the music room immediately," and then, recollecting that Georgiana was now returned to the house, holding out the baby to her and saying, "Should you like to play for her? We have all been taking turns."

"I would, certainly," Georgiana said. "But it might be best if you carried her. I have been inclined to faintness, since I have been with child."

Mary said that she would, and with that, the ladies all made their way down to the music room. Georgiana, reunited with her instrument, played for an hour, to Bess's delight, but found herself strangely longing for her little Clementi box. It could never be said that it was as fine an instrument as this one, but it was associated with a great many fond recollections for her, now.

They sat quietly when she had finished, until Mr. Parker brought in the post, among which was a letter from Edward, indicating that the new lawyer had thus far been more trustworthy, and made good progress on Madame Durand's case. Elizabeth inquired as to the source of Georgiana's letter, was informed that it was from Edward, and then said, "Darcy will be quite jealous of you – it seems you are now Edward's favoured correspondent."

Georgiana told the ladies of Madame Durand, and her legal case, and how Edward had agreed to assist her upon Georgiana and Matthew's leaving Paris.

"I am sure you must have had quite the job, to convince Edward to look after a pretty French widow," Elizabeth said, laughing.

"Yes, he teazed us both for not informing him she was beautiful, before he first met her."

"He does quite love playing the gallant," Elizabeth said. "I expect he calls on her every day, whether there is an update to her legal case or not."

"I hope he does," said Catherine. "It would mean he is back closer to his usual self, and I believe we may all rejoice in that, except perhaps for Madame Durand. We may never know how _she_ feels about his attentions, but I hope for her sake she finds him as amiable as we all do."


	21. Part 1, Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

With a great deal of contentment did Elizabeth see her sisters settled in at Pemberley, and if she had not by now grown uncomfortably large, she would have been thoroughly happy at having all of them, save Lydia, there with her. Lydia was, occasionally, the source for her of guilty thoughts, which emerged most substantially whenever Catherine was in her presence.

Catherine had been at one time very nearly as silly as Lydia, and had _she_ gone to Brighton Elizabeth thought it very possible she would have suffered Lydia's fate, as well. Yet now she was to be found working diligently on watercolours in whatever room they were all seated in, or going on walks with Captain Ramsey and whomever could be roused to chaperone them, on days when the weather was fine. Her conversation at dinner was still lively, but it was clear she was sensible, now, and that she had read a great deal in the last year or so, even if most of it was about the navy.

Lydia had been invited to come up with Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, when Elizabeth's birth drew nearer, and Elizabeth wondered what her youngest sister would be like, given recent events, and whether she would still treat Catherine with jealousy and contempt. These thoughts could not helped but be followed by a measure of guilt, for Elizabeth could not help but think that their mother had led Lydia and Catherine into their silliness, and that removing Catherine from Longbourn for the better part of a year had done her a great deal of benefit. It would be right to give Lydia the same opportunity; although she could not be given a season in town, as Catherine had been, she could at least be invited to stay at Pemberley even after her parents returned home, and Elizabeth resolved to do this. Lydia was now married to an absent husband, and would never have Catherine's prospects unless he died, but perhaps her manners could still be improved in some way.

Catherine would have no opportunity to walk with Captain Ramsey on this day, for Charles and Darcy had been steadily wearing down his resolve not to hunt over port every night following dinner. He had not yet agreed to participate in the next hunt, but had allowed a long ride with Darcy, Charles, and Mr. Sinclair that morning, to attempt a few jumps and see how he did. Mrs. Sinclair had come over in the carriage alongside her husband, to call on them, and she had new intelligence on the Camberts, which she would only share upon learning that all of the ladies in the saloon were family.

"They are in a far poorer way than I believe any of us realised," said she. "It seems they have not even paid Dr. Alderman for treating Mr. Cambert's arm, and now they plan to move in with relations; Barrowmere Park is to be let or sold."

"Oh, dear – we were the ones who summoned Dr. Alderman," Elizabeth said. "If he has not been paid by them, we should do so."

"They would not take kindly to your paying their debts, I do not think," Mrs. Sinclair said. "You would do best to send him items of comparable value to his fees – fruit or game, perhaps – and call them gifts. He will understand what they are for."

"You are right, that is a much better course," Elizabeth said. "I do not know if we shall see the Camberts again, but I would wish to minimise the awkwardness as much as I may. Do you know when they are to remove?"

"Within a fortnight, I understand. They are already allowing interested parties to see the house," Mrs. Sinclair said. "You might have a look at it, Lady Stanton. There are few it would be so convenient for."

This idea of the Stantons's taking Barrowmere Park was brought back up over dinner, with increasing enthusiasm among most at the table, the more it was spoken of. Only one of the party expressed any uncertainty about the idea, but as this was Georgiana, this provided a substantial obstacle to the plans of the others, for how she was to let it, or perhaps even go so far as to purchase it, and furnish it new.

Georgiana could see the sense in the plan: if she was to have a baby, they would have to settle somewhere, and it was not possible to settle any closer to her brother and sister. Yet she was reluctant to do something so substantial as take a house in Matthew's absence, and beyond this, she was not entirely certain that she wished to settle such a long distance from any port. If Matthew was unable to get a letter back to her before he returned, it would be some days before an express could reach her in Derbyshire, and she could travel down to meet him. Still, if he was often from home, it might instead be better to have some delay in their being reunited, so that she could stay near family.

She considered all of these things, and was nowhere near to making a decision, but did allow herself to be convinced to at least go and see the place with Fitzwilliam on the morrow. As could be expected, Fitzwilliam approached the matter more practically, asking before they would set out if Georgiana even had access to enough of their fortune to be able to let the house before Matthew returned. She told him of the papers she had signed, although it had all happened in such a rush, she was not entirely certain what they were.

"Likely a letter of authorisation, which would be all you would need to produce the funds for a lease," he said, and rang the bell in his study for a footman, to find Hughes and have her seek out the papers in Georgiana's bedchamber.

It was some time before Hughes came in with the papers, and they were handed over to Fitzwilliam, who read through one of them carefully, and then said, "It is not a letter of authorisation. This is a full power of attorney, Georgiana; you have complete control over all of your finances. If you so chose, you could purchase the house."

Fitzwilliam seemed a little shocked, but it was not entirely surprising to Georgiana that Matthew would leave her with such powers. He had told her very firmly that if there was a thing she wished for, that it should be purchased if it was within their funds, and yet she felt reassured at his confidence that she would make the right decisions, while he was absent. This did not make her any more likely to wish to let or purchase the house, but it did do away with some of the worry that if she should do so, it would be the wrong decision, and one that Matthew would be unhappy about when he returned.

With this all settled, they should have been able to make the journey to Barrowmere without further delay, but as they were coming up the drive, the baggage cart could be seen approaching them, Murray up behind the bays and looking rather relieved his long journey was finally coming to an end. It would not end so quickly as he might have liked, however, for Fitzwilliam asked Georgiana if these were her new bays, and upon hearing that they were, ordered his driver to stop.

Georgiana followed her brother out into the lane, and felt quite nervous as he looked them over – there was none whose good opinion of her horses mattered so much as his. As she had attempted to, he felt each of their legs, and then stepped back and gazed at them.

"A very fine pair, for your first," he said to Georgiana. "Neither too delicate, nor too coarse. They will do well in town, but they have managed the journey here quite nicely."

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam, I am very glad to hear you like them."

Fitzwilliam instructed Murray on where he might drive the cart, so that it could be unloaded, and informed him Mr. Parker would see a groom sent up from the stables to get him settled in. He then assisted Georgiana back into the carriage, and it set off again.

"Does your driver serve as your groom, as well?" he asked.

"He does, for now. It was a promotion for him, so he does not yet mind the extra duties," Georgiana said. "But I think we shall hire on a groom, to care for the bays, and Grace and Phoebe. We have trespassed on your grooms for too long."

"You need not rush, Georgiana – two or even four more horses hardly signify, in Pemberley's stables."

"Still, if you hear of any possible applicants, please do let me know," Georgiana said, knowing that inquiries for such positions at Pemberley happened with some frequency, despite there rarely being any openings."

"I will, if you wish."

They were silent until the carriage stopped in the drive at Barrowmere. Georgiana had seen the house before, an old brick affair, but it had been some time since she had been inside, and she could not remember any of the interiors. It was best she could not, for she suspected it would have made what she saw inside even more shabby by comparison than it appeared. It was quite apparent that the Camberts had been selling their paintings, and perhaps even some of the furniture, for all inside looked sparse.

They were shewn around by the housekeeper, with no sight of the Camberts, which Georgiana – who had been informed of all that had occurred involving that family by Elizabeth – thought for the best. The sitting rooms and dining room were faded, but livable, as were a few of the principal bedrooms. When they examined the farther wings, however, Georgiana thought them unusable, such poor repair were they in. It seemed Fitzwilliam quite agreed, for he said:

"I believe these wings would be best to come down. It would make for a cosier house, certainly, but I fear it would be more effort to restore them than to rebuild in the future, if you had need of more space."

"I do not know that we would ever need so much more space," Georgiana said. "We were quite comfortable living on board the Caroline together."

"Well, then so long as you had enough bedrooms for your children, and guests, the principal rooms may well suffice."

Georgiana thought she would prefer the cabin of the Caroline over the principal rooms of this house, for the cabin at least was freshly caulked and painted. She said nothing of this, however, until after they had thanked the housekeeper and returned to the carriage.

"I hope it does not disappoint you," she said. "But I do not think I would wish to take that house, even just to let it. The only thing it has to recommend it is that it is close to Pemberley. It might be different if Matthew was home; I daresay he would recruit a great many seamen to see the place freshly scrubbed and painted from top to bottom, and all else returned to better repair. Without him here, though, I would not wish to take it on."

"It does not disappoint me at all, Georgiana; it would have disappointed me if you _had_ chosen to let it, despite how enthusiastic everyone else has been about it," Fitzwilliam said. "I would hate the thought of your living in that miserable house when you might be at Pemberley instead. If you do wish to set up a household, I would rather it be in Derbyshire so that you are closer to us, but there is no need to do so immediately, or in such a house."

"Aunt Catherine would not agree with you, on that point. She is quite adamant that the baronetcy should have a seat."

"Yes, she has written to me of it, as well. But you would do best not to make any decisions on the advice of Lady Catherine," Fitzwilliam said, then added, "And you must never tell her I said thus."

Georgiana laughed. "I shall keep your secret. I know we must settle on a home, eventually, for the sake of our child, at the least, if not the baronetcy, but I would rather wait until we have a better sense of how often Matthew is to be from home."

"Take your time, then," Fitzwilliam said, and then his countenance turned more serious. "Georgiana, you know you shall always have a home here at Pemberley, regardless of whether you set up your own household or not. I would never wish to see you alone, when Matthew is from home; you needn't wait for an invitation."

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam," Georgiana said, her eyes filling with tears. "That means a great deal to me."

"I only wish I had said so before you were married," he said. "Your old room is not quite suited for a married couple, so I believe what we shall do is set aside one of the larger apartments on the second floor for the particular use of you and Matthew. The one on the east side is very nice – unless you would prefer your old room?"

"No, I believe I would prefer the apartment you speak of," Georgiana said. "You are right that it is better suited for a married couple."

"Excellent, then we shall see you moved there at your convenience, and it will always be yours, whenever you choose to stay here. And do not worry on account of your child; nothing would delight Elizabeth more than to fill the nursery."

Georgiana found herself comforted by all that her brother had said, but this last statement did so most deeply. The thought of having her child at Pemberley, of its living in the nursery in which she herself had grown up, made her future feel much more secure, and she came into the entrance-hall in a state of reassurement.

* * *

Elizabeth had been in the nursery with Jane, when one of the footmen informed her Darcy and Georgiana had returned. Curious to learn how the visit to Barrowmere Park had gone, she made her way downstairs and found Darcy in his dressing chamber, just finishing his change of clothes.

"And how was it?" asked she, walking with him into their private sitting room, where, claiming advantage of her situation, she took the chaise.

"The house itself is in poor repair – if Georgiana were to take it, I recommended two of the wings be pulled down. But she does not intend to take it, either for lease or purchase."

"Do you agree with her decision?"

"I do. It was an agreeable thought to think of her settled so close to us, but with Matthew from home, it makes no sense for her to take a house in such condition, when we have so much space," he said. "I did offer her and Matthew permanent use of the large apartment on the east side of the second floor. I hope you do not mind that I did so without speaking to you first."

"I do not mind at all, and I can think of no better use for it," Elizabeth said. "Did you see the Camberts?"

"There was no sign of them, thankfully," Darcy said. "But the house shows clearly how poor their situation must have been. The paintings are down from the walls, and some of the furniture gone as well."

"It will be interesting to see who our new neighbours shall be, then, to take on such a house."

"It will certainly take the right sort of people – they must have income from other sources, and be willing to spend it to make the place comfortable again. I expect the Camberts will need to lower their asking price, before they will find a suitable party."

"You have made things too easy for them, by buying up all of the land whenever it comes on the market."

"Perhaps I have, and perhaps they will think more highly of us when they realise what waiting it saved them, although I doubt it," Darcy said. "Now I am afraid I must leave you – I promised Charles and Captain Ramsey I would meet them in the billiards room on my return. Are you to stay here and rest?"

"I believe I will, for a little while, and then I will speak to Georgiana about when she wishes to move into the new apartment."

"Would you like me to have Sarah wake you?"

"I do not intend to sleep, but yes, it is probably best, in the chance I _do_ fall asleep," Elizabeth said. "Would you be so good as to bring me my book?"

Darcy did as he was bade, fetching it from the table beside his bed and handing it down to her with a kiss, and the gentlest little caress of her cheek.

"How do you think I should spend my twenty guineas?" asked he.

"You still have several weeks more, Mr. Darcy, which is ample time for my feet and face to swell further still, and my back to pain me even more, which surely must affect my countenance."

"Has your back been paining you?" he asked, his teazing forgotten. "Why did you not say anything?"

"Dr. Alderman said it was natural – after all, I am carrying the weight of what is very nearly an infant in my belly. But there is little that can be done about it."

"I do not agree – here, sit up a little," he said, and then assisted her to do so, sitting on the edge of the chaise beside her and rubbing his hand in little circles on her back.

"That is better," Elizabeth said, although she was not entirely certain whether his actions were helping with the pain, or simply so pleasant they served as a distraction. "You needed to meet Charles and Captain Ramsey for billiards, however."

"It takes only two to play; they may occupy each other for awhile."

* * *

Sarah did not need to wake Elizabeth, although she did inform her at the appointed hour that Georgiana had also gone to her chamber to rest, and upon learning that Elizabeth wished to come and see her, had requested Hughes wake her at the same time Miss Kelly had been instructed to wake Elizabeth. Elizabeth therefore knocked firmly on the door with no fears that she would wake her sister, and walked into the spacious chamber that had been Georgiana's ever since she had moved out of the smaller children's bedrooms beside the nursery.

Darcy was right that it was not appropriate for a married couple; aside from only possessing a dressing room adjoining it, there was a girlishness about the room, in its hues and furniture. Presently, there were also several trunks on the floor, and the large, canvas-wrapped object that had stirred Elizabeth's curiosity, upon seeing it on the baggage cart.

Georgiana, after admitting Elizabeth to her room, began rummaging through one of the trunks, only after Elizabeth had been seated producing a bolt of lace, a very fine parasol, and a bottle of scent. She gave these over to her sister, saying, "You know I am not one inclined to favour shopping, but I found it quite enjoyable to do so in Paris. These are for you; I hope you will like them."

Elizabeth did like them all, very much, and thanked her sister by telling her so, and then continuing, "I had wondered at your bringing so many trunks back, but now I know them to be not your own purchases, but instead the result of your generous nature."

"I had the fortune of an opportunity my family and friends shall not be likely to have for some time," Georgiana said. "I could hardly be in Paris without giving you some benefit of it."

"You must tell me – what is that great object there?" Elizabeth said, motioning to the canvas package, which had been left in the far corner of the room.

"Oh, that is not from Paris; it is from London. It is a Clementi square pianoforte," Georgiana said, and then continued, somewhat defensively, "Matthew had meant it for my use in the great cabin of the Caroline, but since I do not travel with him for now, we thought it best that I take it with me."

"A pianoforte? But must it not have legs to stand on?"

Georgiana walked over to the object and unwrapped it sufficiently, so that Elizabeth could see the detached legs, and below them, the main body of the pianoforte itself, then said, in a tone of sadness, "Matthew had it altered, so that it might be taken apart and struck down in the hold, if needed. It was so thoughtful of him."

"You must miss him terribly."

For a moment, Georgiana's countenance appeared overwhelmed, and her eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away, and said only, "I do, very much."

"I must admit surprise at your package being a pianoforte," Elizabeth said, expecting her sister wished for a distraction. "I had never expected one so small – we have a square at Longbourn, but it is much older, and larger. I believe we must get one for the nursery, so that Bess may be entertained there."

"You may use this one there, if you wish, while I am here."

"Oh no, we shall order another. This would go very nicely in the sitting room of your new apartment, if you still wish to move there. Not, of course, that you may not use the one in the music room whenever you please – Darcy has indicated that it is yours, and will go with you whenever you set up your household. But you may find it nice to have one so convenient."

"Yes, I believe I would like to have it in the sitting room there, if you do not mind. And I am very appreciative of you and Fitzwilliam setting aside that apartment for Matthew and I. It is very kind of you."

"It is kind of Fitzwilliam, but I fear it is more selfish of me," Elizabeth said. "I should prefer as many of my sisters near me for as long as possible. I do not know how I shall bear it when Jane finally repairs to her own estate. When would you like to make the move to your new apartment?"

"I suppose whenever it is convenient to the staff. It shall be strange to leave this room, but somehow it does not feel as though it belongs to me, anymore. It is as though a different person lived here."

"I know precisely what you mean. When we stay over at Longbourn, Fitzwilliam and I share what was my bedchamber, when I lived there, and it feels impossibly strange. That room was for being a girl, and wondering with Jane if we would ever marry. It is not a room for my husband to be staying in."

Georgiana smiled, and said she knew what Elizabeth meant, but with a listlessness which could not help but worry her sister.


	22. Part 1, Chapter 22

I am presently devouring a bunch of Shire history books and wanted to point out Geoffrey N. Wright's "Turnpike Roads" as having been quite helpful for this chapter.

**Chapter 22**

A few days following the hunt – in which Captain Ramsey was said to have ridden well – a succession of servants, supervised by Hughes, made quick work of seeing all that a young lady could acquire in nineteen years transferred from Georgiana's old apartment to her new one. The move came to be quite a welcome distraction, for her, to take over a new space and think of what might be done to make it her own. She had offered her box pianoforte to Elizabeth for the nursery, but was glad her sister had not taken up this offer, for it fit quite nicely in the little sitting room. She smiled upon it every time she saw it, and spent a little time in practice on it every morning, thinking always of Matthew as she played.

Although this apartment was on the east, rather than the north side of the house, she still used the same staircase to go downstairs, and on this morning went thither, so that she could join the ladies in the music room, where she understood they were entertaining Bess. She could hear Fitzwilliam's voice as she descended, which was natural; his study was down the hall from these stairs, and he sometimes began or concluded his business while walking through the hallway.

She took the stairs more slowly than she had as a young girl in this house, skipping down them and smiling at any servants who would look at her askance, and as she reached the first floor, she could hear Fitzwilliam more distinctly, saying, "Remember, she must go with you to America. You will see not a shilling of it unless she agrees."

Georgiana thought it odd that he spoke of someone agreeing to go to America, and thought to ask him of it later; perhaps it was the son of a tenant, although it was odd that someone must agree to go with the son. She was entirely unprepared when she reached the landing.

"Mr. Wickham!" she exclaimed, and fainted dead away.

* * *

Georgiana stared at him in shock, and horror. She could never have suspected that this was his plan, in telling her they were going to Jamaica, nor that he must have been giving her the blackberries for dinner for weeks in advance so that she would not suspect he _wanted_ her to write the letter.

"Please do not," she whispered. "Please."

These were all the words she could manage, before she collapsed, sobbing, on the floor.

It took Georgiana a very long time to recover from this state. It was the middle of the night before she managed to crawl, by the faint moonlight that reached her room, into her bed, where, still weeping, she considered what she should do. She had always harboured hope that somehow all would come to right, that either Mr. Wickham or Fitzwilliam would give in, but now she felt all hope of her being released from this place gone, and gradually, she determined that she must – somehow – force her own release. She must get out in time to warn Fitzwilliam, and if she was to do that, she would have to get past Mr. Wickham. From this determination, she set about making her plan. It was a plan borne of desperation, and she was not sure whether it would work, but she had to do something, or give in to that desperation.

She could not begin until he left in the morning, before which she feigned lying in the bed and crying. When he finally exited the cottage, she started her practise in earnest, picking up the battered old chair and swinging it over her head, pretending to swing it into his head. This she did until her arms tired, and then she rested, and did it again. It was tiring, thirsty work, and she longed for more to drink, but she would get no more than her usual jug in the evening, which was never quite enough. Well before Mr. Wickham returned home, she had stilled herself and was lying on the bed reading, again, and when he came in with her food, she did her best to look as though she was as thoroughly defeated as she had been the night before, thanking him timidly for her meal.

Although she had the deepest desire to be off, she did this for a full week; practising during the day, and acting deferential and defeated whenever he came in, until he said:

"If I had known this should break your spirit, Georgiana, I would have done it long ago. Perhaps we might live as a more traditional man and wife, someday."

"Do you think so?" she whispered, allowing herself to look just the slightest bit hopeful.

"Perhaps. Once your brother is well on his way to Jamaica. I have mailed the letter, so I do not believe it will be long now."

This was all the conversation they had on the topic that evening, and Georgiana spent another week in practise, following it. By now her arms had grown stronger, and she thought she could do the deed successfully, although only the actual doing of it would prove whether she truly could.

He came in with her dinner on that evening and actually smiled a little at her, and Georgiana felt this must be when she would spring her trap, such as it was.

"The girls you bring home, from the inn, what you do with them, they seem to enjoy it," she said, softly. "Is that what you wished to do, the night we were married?"

"It was," he said. "How do you know what I do with the girls from the inn?"

"I watch, through the keyhole."

"You do, hmm? And how do you feel, when you are watching? Do you feel a stirring, in unmentionable places?"

"Yes," Georgiana whispered, although in truth she felt no such thing. "I – I sometimes wish to be doing those things myself."

"If you were to participate willingly in such an act, I assure you, Georgiana, things would be much better for you. Meat and wine for dinner, to start, and we would be much further on our way to acting as a true husband and wife."

"If you would bring me some pure wine, to start, and allow me to finish my dinner, I – I believe I would participate willingly," Georgiana said.

Mr. Wickham seemed both delighted and distracted by this, which was what she was hoping for. A little cup of wine was deposited on her floor, and then the door closed and locked, with Mr. Wickham saying as he did so, "Change into your nightclothes, and let me know when you are ready for me to enter."

Georgiana trembled and ate down her bread, then drank the watered wine. She dared not drink the pure wine now, not when the most critical moment was near. Distracted by lust, and perhaps having drank down some of the wine himself – which had been her hope in asking for her own – Mr. Wickham would prove an easier target for the chair, but in his lustful state Georgiana expected he would have her regardless of how she reacted, if she made her attempt and failed.

She did change into her nightgown; if all went well, he would hardly see her in it, and it would make it easier to move to the next step in her plan, if this one was successful. Then she took up the chair, standing beside the door, and called out that she was ready, in a voice she hoped sounded exceedingly nervous, but with a bit of that lust he felt. The sound of the key in the lock seemed less steady than usual, and when finally it turned, and the door opened, Georgiana caught sight of his head, and took the very swing she had been practising all this time, and found she had timed it perfectly.

Mr. Wickham fell to the floor, stunned, although not unconscious. Georgiana swung again, and this attempt knocked him out, although his breathing seemed regular enough that she thought she had not done lasting damage, although she could not be brought to care deeply if she had. She checked him briefly, and found his purse was not on his person; she would need to search the other room for it, and hope there was some manner of coin inside. She had already set aside the things she wished to take with her, and she picked up this bundle. The key was still inside the door, which made it easy enough to lock Mr. Wickham inside. Doing this gave her some measure of security, but still, she was not sure if he could force the door open, so she worked quickly once outside.

The purse was easily enough located, and thankfully did contain some money. Georgiana next located the chest where Mr. Wickham kept his clothes, and dressed herself in what she deemed the best options – buckskin breeches and boots, a shirt and coat. Her hair was the most difficult matter; she pulled it back tightly on her head and tied it as a man of the older fashion would have done, hoping it would serve when mostly hidden by a hat. Then she finished making up her bundle with anything that would be useful on the journey – the knife she had been threatened with so many times, the remaining loaves of bread, and three bottles of wine. While searching the rest of the room for anything that might be of use to her, she came across a little strongbox, and inside found a set of letters, written in her brother's hand, as well as the licence for her own marriage. She longed painfully to read the letters, but knew she could not tarry. She would read them when she reached a safe place – if she reached a safe place.

She left the key just outside the door of the room she had been imprisoned in for so long – close enough that Mr. Wickham should eventually contrive some way to get it, but far enough that it should take him awhile to do so – and walked out of the cottage, longing to savour her freedom, but knowing that she was still a very long way from safety. Mr. Wickham had purchased a horse early on in their residence at the cottage, and Georgiana knew from her short daily walks outside that the horse was housed in a little shed attached to the cottage. She walked to that shed, now, and lacking anything else to gain the horse's trust, grabbed a handful of grass. Georgiana had, thankfully, been raised by a horse-loving father and brother; the grass, and her kind words, which the horse likely had not had from Mr. Wickham, gentled the horse in her presence. Georgiana also was glad her father had insisted she understand all of the tack involved in saddling a horse, although usually this was done for her by a groom, for now she was able to find the saddle and bridle and apply them properly, then tie her bundle behind the saddle.

Lacking a name for the horse, she called him Star, for the only marking on his otherwise plain chestnut coat. Patting his neck gently, she mounted, feeling exceedingly strange to be riding astride. Mr. Wickham was not much taller than her, so she adjusted the stirrups only one notch, and then, pulling her husband's greatcoat a little tighter around herself, nudged Star with her heels to be off.

In that first night, Georgiana's only goal was to be away – far, far away – from the cottage. She drove Star as quickly as she dared, in the moonlight, passing through a little village, in which was an inn, and Georgiana assumed it to be the one with the serving girls who were so amenable to Mr. Wickham. The inn was brightly lit, and she could see men inside with their tankards as she trotted by. The road continued on in near darkness, and she was forced to slow to a walk. For several hours more, she rode on in this way, until she was struck with a sense of giddy relief, and then exhaustion, and thought that she should stop, so that both she and the horse could rest.

They passed the remainder of the night in a grove of trees just off the road, where she thought they would be well concealed. It was bitterly cold, too cold to sleep, but Georgiana allowed herself a little of the wine and tried to let it soothe her of her fears that one of the night sounds around her should prove to be something threatening. At dawn, she resaddled Star and mounted, and continued on the road. That it was leading to a larger road could eventually be seen, but Georgiana had no notion of what that road might be, nor whether she was closer to Pemberley, or London.

With every imaginable joy did her eyes fall upon the mile post of the greater road, which read, "To London, 19 miles." She believed then, for the first time since her wedding night, that freedom might still be hers, and if she could only find Fitzwilliam, happiness would follow. Resisting every temptation to gallop the entire way to London, she oriented herself by the other directions given on the post, and set out toward town at a reasonable pace, one Star should be able to maintain for nineteen miles.

She dared not stop at any of the inns along the path, and so was required to divert from the road whenever she saw a stream or a lake where the horse might drink and rest. Upon reaching the turnpike gate, she trembled in fear as she handed over her two pence to the operator, for fear he would recognise her to be a lady. If he did, however, he said nothing, merely handing her a ticket in return. By the time the sun was setting, she had raised the city, and was filled with the deepest anticipation that she would be home as soon as she could navigate her way to Mayfair.

When she pulled Star to a halt outside the house on Curzon Street, she felt all the strangeness of the situation. To show up on the doorstep, and dressed as a man, after having been gone so long! The knocker was not on the door, and so she pounded on it with her fist, filled suddenly with a wave of panic that no-one would be there to receive her.

The door was opened, hesitantly, by Mr. Miller, who looked at her with an expression of deepest shock, and exclaimed, "My God, I thought I would never see the day!"

There followed a few minutes of confusion, where a groom was sent out for the horse, and Georgiana was ushered inside, and Mrs. Wright and Hughes summoned for her. Mr. Miller assisted her into the drawing room, where she collapsed in fatigue on the settee, and was engulfed in the attentions of the housekeeper and her lady's maid. Wine and bread were offered to her, and she was informed more food and a posset were already being prepared in the kitchen. Her present thinness was lamented over, a bath would be drawn immediately, and if there was any other thing poor Miss Darcy wished for, it would be procured for her immediately.

These simple gestures were of the utmost comfort to Georgiana; to have kind hands touching her, giving over to her clean handkerchiefs for her tears of relief, was nearly enough to overcome her. What did overcome her, however, was the exchange she held with Mrs. Wright, when the housekeeper said to her, "Oh, if only the master could have waited, he would have seen you safe with his own eyes."

"Has he gone to Pemberley?" asked Georgiana, although she felt already a sinking in her stomach.

"No, miss, to Jamaica. Left nine days ago, and we were not to expect him back for some time."

Georgiana collapsed into sobs, with the knowledge that she had failed. She was free, but Fitzwilliam was not here to see it; he had left already, on that mission which had every possibility of endangering him.

"Oh miss, it is not so bad as you make it. We shall send word to him and he will be back before you know it," said Miss Hughes.

"No, it is not enough – not nearly enough," Georgiana said. "I must go myself, and find him, and assure him of my safety."

"He wouldn't want it, Miss Darcy, you running off to find him when you only just came back to us safe," Mrs. Wright said. "You had best wait, and let us send word. We shall send a footman, if you please, to deliver the note of his own hand, but not you."

"I must insist on this," said Georgiana. "I have failed him in every other way, and I will not fail him in this."

Over the course of the evening, Mr. Miller, Mrs. Wright, and Miss Hughes all attempted to steer Georgiana from her chosen course, to convince her to send a servant, or even hire a man of business, or at the very least wait for Colonel Fitzwilliam, who was at Southampton seeking to determine what ship she and Mr. Wickham had taken passage on, to discuss her plans with him.

Georgiana was firm; she would allow them to prepare her a fine full meal, and the luxury of a bath and a full night's sleep in her own bed. But they were to pack her a small trunk, so that she could seek passage in the morning, and she herself went into Fitzwilliam's study, to raid the strongbox there for the money she would need for the journey. She was disappointed there was less there than she would have expected, and thought Fitzwilliam must have taken some of the money himself, in his rush to be off to Jamaica. The thought of her brother going immediately thither, on the basis of a letter in her own hand, brought on another rush of tears, and it was some time before she could go up to her room, for the sleep she so desperately needed.

* * *

AN: There's been some confusion over this chapter. I assure you it's the right one. I am going to be posting the next chapter, which provides more explanation, early.


	23. Part 1, Chapter 23

I hope this explains the last chapter more. I'm hoping to still make my regular Wednesday post this week with chapter 24, as long as I'm far enough along in editing.

**Chapter 23**

Fitzwilliam Darcy had prepared himself for any manner of unpleasantness, upon learning from Mr. Parker that George Wickham had come to the front door and threatened to make a scene there, if he was not allowed to see Mr. Darcy. Mr. Parker had, wisely and quietly, ushered Wickham into Darcy's study, there to wait until the master could be found. By then, it was inevitable that Darcy should have to see him, and find out what it was he wanted, for surely Wickham would not have risked his neck by returning to the country unless he planned to ask for quite a payout.

Wickham began with ten thousand pounds, as his asking price. He planned to go to America, and begin a new life, and would take Mrs. Wickham with him, if only he were afforded the funds. Darcy, who had already at this point in his life deposited far too much into the man, and for no good purpose, would have sent him away with only enough to pay for the passage, but for Lydia. And so he said that he would give him three thousand pounds, the same sum Wickham _should_ have been able to make a fine living on many years ago, and that only if Lydia was willing to go with him, which Wickham must go to Longbourn and request. This sum was protested; Wickham was informed that a naval captain lived under their roof as he spoke, who surely must have some contacts in the army to which a deserter could be handed over.

The sum was thusly accepted, and Wickham was to travel to Longbourn to seek reconciliation with his wife. From there, Darcy had only the task of seeing him as quietly as possible out of the house; Elizabeth he would inform later of the visit, but he did not wish for Georgiana to encounter him, and thought Wickham might be best smuggled out the exit by the east stairwell, so as to be possibly seen by the fewest people while walking to the stables, where he had left a hired horse.

There was the slightest of risks that someone might be using the stairwell, but in a house so large and used by so few people presently, Darcy had thought it minimal. In the minutes and hours following his sister's fall, he would think on this assessment again and again, and criticise himself for it.

In the moment, however, he heard her exclaim Wickham's name, and saw her knees buckle before she tumbled, unconscious, down the stairs. There was nothing he could do in such a horrifying moment but let out a strangled cry and look over to the man beside him, who – to his credit – appeared equally horrified. Georgiana did not wake upon reaching the bottom of the stairwell, and there was the first evidence of a wound on her head, rapidly growing. Darcy went to her, and in his panicked mind, had barely the fortitude to check her pulse, which at least was steady.

It could not be said whether Wickham assisted out of his own volition, or whether he thought his aid in the matter might eventually procure him more than three thousand pounds, but assist he did. He called out to some unseen servant in the hallway that Mrs. Bingley should be fetched at once, a command Darcy could not help but find grounded in good thinking, for he did not want Elizabeth, so far along in her pregnancy as she was, to encounter such a scene and be shocked. Wickham then turned to him, and said, "Does Dr. Alderman still live in the same house, in Matlock?"

"Yes."

"I shall go summon him, then. My horse is still saddled."

"Do not go on horseback," Darcy said, removing his signet ring and handing it over. "Have them prepare the chaise and four. Use this as proof the command comes from me."

It was only after Wickham had run off that Darcy began to doubt the wisdom of giving him such power, but then, he trusted his staff thoroughly, and Wickham would see none of his money if he were to take some inappropriate action now. As Jane rushed into the stairwell and gave a startled cry at what she found, Darcy reverted to only one thought, that there was a frightening amount of blood.

* * *

Elizabeth became aware that _something_ was the matter in the house well before she was informed of what it was. Jane could be found neither in the nursery, nor the drawing rooms or the music room, and there seemed a strange restlessness among the staff, who were not nearly so attentive to her as they usually were.

The event was finally explained to her by Jane, who found her sitting alone in the music room, under the assumption that eventually some of the guests in the house would make their way to that space. Jane sat down beside her, and, very nearly in tears, said, "Oh, Lizzy, there has been a most terrible accident."

Jane, with all the distress in her countenance which must come from imparting such news, proceeded to explain to her the whole of Georgiana's injuries, and how they had come about, so far as she knew. Jane then explained that Georgiana had been moved back up the stairs to her new bedchamber, it being almost as near as any of the others, and that Kitty, Mary, and Hughes had seen her cleaned and changed. Elizabeth was at first upset that she had not been summoned immediately; she was closer to Georgiana than any of the others, in being directly her sister by marriage. She resolved herself to be calm; they had likely wished to spare her a shock, so near as she was to birth, which would account for the delicate way in which Jane had informed her. Still, the most unfortunate news was that which Jane had yet to relate, and she did so now, saying:

"Lizzy, I do not think her baby could have survived, with as much blood as there was, and a good deal of it not from her head. Dr. Alderman should be here soon, and perhaps we may hope for better news, but I fear we should prepare for the worst."

Elizabeth reached out to hug her sister, and was not sure which of them was in greater need of comfort. They remained thus for some time before Elizabeth finally determined she should see Georgiana for herself, and made her way to that apartment with Jane.

She found her sister there looking very pale, laid out on the bed and changed into her nightgown, being rather ably nursed by Mary, who held a piece of flannel up to Georgiana's head, and explained that Catherine had gone to change, her dress having been spoilt. Elizabeth noticed Darcy only after all of this was explained, seated in a chair beside the bed and seemingly overcome with grief. She wished to be of assistance to both brother and sister, but as her sister showed no signs of stirring, she kneeled beside Darcy and embraced him, an attitude which could not be continued for long before Jane had brought a chair up alongside and convinced her to sit beside him.

Dr. Alderman arrived and was shown with all urgency into the room. They could not all stay, for such an examination, and Jane offered to remain, as it would only be appropriate for a married woman to do so. Elizabeth would have protested, at this, but began to sense that Jane had done so not to spare her such a sad task, but because someone needed to lead Darcy from the room, and be of comfort to him, and none would have been remotely so suited to do so as Elizabeth.

She led him into the empty bedchamber across the hall, where they were seated, and he explained to her more of the details of how Georgiana had come to be in this state. If Jane had been nearly overcome, Elizabeth feared Darcy was still very much in shock, for although he spoke of the events that had occurred, it was in a strange, disconnected voice that very much worried her, particularly since Jane had given her cause to fear what Dr. Alderman would say.

The physician was directed into the bedchamber they occupied by someone or other in the hall, and stood in front of them, being silent for a very long time before saying, "I am grieved to inform you that the baby has almost certainly been lost. The only fortunate thing, if it can be called that, is that it was not so far along that the loss puts the mother's life at risk."

"Oh dear God, poor Georgiana," said Elizabeth. "So there is no risk to her life – she will wake?"

"I have explained things poorly," said Dr. Alderman. "The risk to her life comes not from the loss of the child, but from the blow to the head – I understand she struck her head as she fell."

Elizabeth looked to Darcy to confirm this, and he nodded, mutely.

"That she has still not awakened gives cause for concern," said Dr. Alderman. "It is possible she is afflicted by a fracture of the skull."

Elizabeth gasped, then reminded herself to be calm, for Darcy's sake, if none else. "What is to be done, if that is the case?"

"First we must ensure it is a fracture of the skull; if she wakes in the next day or two, it may be only that her head is severely bruised. Beyond that, we will have to look at more substantial measures, for by that time it will not matter if it is a fracture or not – the greater concern will be that she cannot take any liquid, particularly given how much blood has been lost."

"What should we do for her?"

"She must be monitored at all times, and I should like her mouth opened and a spoonful of broth given every half hour. Her jaw is pliant; I do not believe you will have any difficulty with it, but I will show all who are to watch her how to do so before I leave."

"You will have no shortage of volunteers in that quarter."

"I am glad to hear it," Dr. Alderman said, and then continued, in a tone of some emotion, "I have looked after Miss – Lady Stanton since she was a young girl, and it grieves me more than I can say to see her in this state. I promise I shall do everything I may to save her, including praying for her."

"Thank you, doctor. That means a great deal to all of us," Elizabeth said. "Let me send down to the kitchen for some broth, so that you may show us what is to be done."

There were so many people milling about in the hallway, concerned but without direction for their concern, that Elizabeth quickly identified a maid who could be sent down for the broth, and then returned to the bedroom.

"While we wait, you are far enough along, Mrs. Darcy, that I should like to see how your baby does, if you do not mind," Dr. Alderman said.

"Yes, I believe that would be for the best," Elizabeth said, feeling terribly guilty to be thinking about her own birth, with Georgiana in such a state. Yet her child was to come, and soon, and no measure of guilt would make her wish to sacrifice the health of her own baby. "Mr. Darcy, do you wish to wait in the hall? Or perhaps go back and sit with Georgiana?"

"I will go and sit with her," Darcy said, looking as though he had been a little awakened by her use of his formal name.

The examination was quick; Dr. Alderman thought Elizabeth had at least a fortnight more, before she was due to have the child. This corresponded well with Dr. Whittling's original assessment of when she should have the child, and was a relief to Elizabeth, who could hope to see Georgiana restored to health before beginning her confinement.

There was quite a crowd around Dr. Alderman while he demonstrated how Georgiana was to be fed, and Elizabeth felt a little embarrassed on behalf of her sister, to be propped up on pillows and have her mouth opened by the doctor's hand in front of so many people. When he had finished, they bade him farewell, and all but Elizabeth, Darcy, and Jane remained in the room. Jane seemed to linger for a purpose, and leaned over where Elizabeth was seated.

"The carriage will have to carry Dr. Alderman back to Matlock," Jane said. "Charles and I thought when it returns here it might be best to send someone with the news to David Stanton, given he is her brother, as well."

"Yes, we should. It is good of you to think of it. We may send a second carriage to him now, though, rather than waiting. And the message should indicate that we will have a room ready for him, if he wishes to come here and see her himself."

"I will have Charles send word down to the stable to have it readied," Jane said, and then handed over what appeared to be Darcy's signet ring to Elizabeth. "I nearly forgot, Wickham did return this. It was he who went to fetch Dr. Alderman; Fitzwilliam gave it to him so everyone in the stable would believe the command to prepare the carriage came from their master."

"Where has Wickham gone now?"

"Off to Longbourn, already. He intended to reach there before our family set out for Pemberley, and to convince Lydia to go on with him to London and find passage to America. In chance he was delayed, I told him of the inns we typically use, so that he might meet with them on the journey. And Mrs. Reynolds saw to some food for him to take."

"Good. I cannot say I wish to have him roaming this house, but he did do one good turn for us, in fetching Dr. Alderman, although I cannot be sure he did so out of kindness."

"Lizzy, he has tried to do the right thing, of late. I cannot think him an entirely good man, but let us at least give him credit for that."

Elizabeth nodded, for there was a good deal of rightness to what Jane said, and her sister squeezed her hand and gave her a sad smile, before exiting the room. It was very strange, to be left alone there with Darcy and their silent, lifeless sister. Elizabeth had rarely been at a loss for what to say: she could not think that every-thing she had ever said before in life had been the right thing, but never before had she been so lost to make an attempt.

Darcy placed his head in his hands for some time, but finally raised it, and said, "I failed her. There were so many times when I thought I might have done so, and things turned out for the better, and now, when I would have least expected it, when I thought this to be the safest place for her, and her husband's life to be the one at risk, I failed her."

"Darcy, you cannot blame yourself for a very strange and unfortunate accident."

"Someone must be blamed. Whatever happens, and dear God I hope for the best, Matthew is going to return and someone is going to have to – at the least – explain to him why his child, possibly his heir, was lost, if not his wife, as well. And who is to blame more than I?"

"Mr. Wickham, for one."

"As much as I hate the man, one cannot blame him for being at the bottom of a flight of stairs."

"Nor can one blame the person standing beside him, for that is all that you were."

"But I am the one who chose to take him out through that exit. I might have walked him out the back, or even through the servant's entrance, or – "

"Darcy, you cannot do this." Elizabeth laid her hand over his. "It is no help to Georgiana now, and she would not want you to. We must focus all our thoughts, all our force of will, on her condition improving."

Darcy did not seem entirely convinced, but nor did he protest.

"Now here, it has been close enough to a half-hour. Help me to give her the broth, and then we may go down and organise a schedule of who is to watch her when, if Jane has not done so already."

* * *

Jane _had_ organised a schedule for who was to watch after Georgiana; Elizabeth's name was not on it, and the others would not allow her to be added, regardless of her protests. She might sit with her sister whenever she wanted, but they would not allow it to be a duty for her.

None of them was much inclined to dinner that evening, so that Elizabeth asked Mrs. Reynolds to have Cook prepare a cold collation, and give to the staff anything that would not keep from what had originally been planned. They ate in the winter breakfast room, it being just down the hall from the room where Georgiana laid, watched by Catherine for now. This would allow them all to know immediately of any improvement to Georgiana's condition, for Catherine certainly would run down the hall in jubilation if the event they all hoped for was to occur.

It did not occur during the meal, however. The only news that came to them was by letter, a piece of neglected post given over by Mr. Parker to Elizabeth, when she had finished her food. It was from Mrs. Bennet, and began with an indication that the Bennets might be delaying their journey north. The reason for this was interrupted by a very long passage about Catherine's wedding clothes; what colours looked best on Kitty; little Lambton would never be able to furnish all that was needed; a trip to Matlock or Derby or perhaps even Manchester would be required; and had Captain Ramsey settled on whether he would be wearing his naval uniform?

Following all of this, Mrs. Bennet noted that Mr. Bennet had a little sore throat and a fever, on account of having been caught in the rain riding back from one of his tenant's properties, and they therefore thought it best to wait at Longbourn until Mr. Bennet was fully well. Mrs. Bennet hoped they still would have time in plenty before Elizabeth's baby was born; she hoped Lizzy would not leave the succession of so grand an estate as Pemberley in question by having a girl as Jane had done; she did love little Bess, however, for being her first grandchild, but oh, the thought of endless girls gave her such a fit of nerves!

When she had finished the letter, Elizabeth placed it on the table in bewilderment, and was asked of its contents by the others, who had heard from Mr. Parker that it was from Longbourn. She related to them those items which were actually news, which was very little, and determined she would show it to Catherine later, so that her sister might read the passages pertaining to her.

Elizabeth related the news to them of her father's being ill with the same level of import that her mother had placed upon it, and yet she could not help but be worried. Her worries were vague, and distant, and hardly seemed to have merit given Georgiana's situation. Yet no-one would call Mr. Bennet young, and Elizabeth could not help but think that if she had been at Longbourn herself, this sore throat her mother spoke of would have worried her far more than it did Mrs. Bennet.

She could not allow these worries to take precedence once she had changed for bed, however, and made her way into Darcy's bedchamber. There she must be hopeful, and stroke his cheek and take up his hand in the hopes of soothing him. It was a long night, for Elizabeth; Darcy slept fitfully, if at all, and was often waking her with his frequent turnings in the bed, so much so that she wished she had thought to make him take a little laudanum before they had retired, and even considered going to her own bedchamber, but did not, for fear her absence would lessen his comfort.

When she woke from a shallow sleep to find the room filled with the grey light of dawn, he was already gone from the bed, and standing over by the window, silently gazing outside. He had not realised Elizabeth was awake, and she watched his profile, feeling the tightness of grief for him in her chest. Elizabeth had always known a full family, a noisy household; she had possessed what she had not then considered a luxury, of numerous sisters and both parents living. But Darcy, although he had gained family by marriage, had only Georgiana left of his nearest relations, and the thought of losing her could only have brought the most terrible pain.


	24. Part 1, Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

If Georgiana had not been so long used to living locked in a small room, she would certainly have found her cabin on the Margaret Poole to be impossibly cramped and stifling. As she had lived in such a situation, however, it had taken very little for her to become inured to the small, damp space which was her own for the passage to Bermuda.

She had found the funds from the strongbox enough to cover the berth on this ship, which could hardly be called the finest merchant ship on the seas, but she had a little less than twenty pounds remaining, together with a hundred-pound note from Drummonds, which she had not ventured to use, but had taken as an option in case more funds were needed before she reached Fitzwilliam. The Margaret Poole was to put in at Bermuda, unload some of her cargo, and then wait for the next convoy to Jamaica, so as to avoid becoming prey to an American privateer.

There was no opportunity for society on the Margaret Poole, aside from those who might be met while walking the deck. The ship was devoted to her cargo; passengers were few, and not her purpose, and Georgiana had made no friends among those who were her passengers – men, all of them, save for her. Some of them seemed nice enough – Mr. Harris and Mr. Tiersen never failed to bid her good day and ask how she did – yet without the social structures of a ball, or a the very least a dinner, she had no opportunity to become better acquainted with them. Nor did she need to, given she was a married woman.

Thus, aside from her morning airings on the deck, she spent much of her time in the little cabin, reading as much as she chose, for although her candle allotment was small, a number of extras had been placed in her trunk by Hughes, who had been exceedingly disappointed she could not come. In many ways, Georgiana wished Hughes had, if only to add some additional female presence on board the ship. Yet to take on responsibility for a servant as well as herself, and to pay for passage for an additional person, had seemed an impossibility when Georgiana had made her way down to the London docklands and inquired about passage and fares.

Georgiana had brought books, but she mostly read Fitzwilliam's letters to Mr. Wickham. They were at once painful and reassuring to her: painful to read of how badly he had wished to see her restored home; reassuring to know that he had never given up, even during a period of time it seemed Mr. Wickham had attempted to convince Fitzwilliam she had died.

She was interrupted in her reading when she felt a great convulsion of the ship beneath her, a sound of the most horrific scraping, which left her sitting up in her cot, tense, and unsure of what to do. This uncertainty was ended by Mr. Harris, who knocked violently on her cabin door, and, when she had opened it the width of her head to peer out at him, said: "She has grounded. You had best gather your valuables and wait on deck."

Georgiana, utterly unused to this naval world, did as she was bade, and quickly, making a little bundle that largely featured her reticule and the letters, wrapped in one of her shifts, with such little comforts as she could think of slipped in. Once this had been done, she went up on deck, where she could see that things were at once better and worse than she might have hoped for.

They were better because the Margaret Poole was within clear sight of Bermuda; if Georgiana squinted, she could see those on the shore, frantically launching boats to go to the stricken ship. But the ship itself was entirely motionless; the deck which had always felt so alive beneath her feet was now wholly firm, and pounded upon by the feet of the seamen who seemed to be running about frantically, to little purpose.

They were recalled with some degree of screaming and cursing by the master of the ship, to circling around the capstan, and pushing with all their might. Georgiana looked about, to see what they might be attempting to do, and saw that an anchor had been dropped out away from the ship, and that as the men heaved on the bars of the capstan, the anchor cable tightened. As she continued to look around the ship, she saw Mr. Harris standing by the railing, looking over the side, and went to join him, thinking it best to stay near the only person who had shown any concern for her welfare.

"Mrs. Wickham," he said, and might have said more, but the ship gave a great rending crack, and shuddered so violently Georgiana might have fallen, if he had not reached out and grabbed her arm to hold her standing. When she had recovered, she realised the deck was slanting more than it had been, and there was a long crack cutting across the middle of it.

"Her back is broken," Mr. Harris said, "Those boats cannot arrive soon enough for my taste."

The boats were close enough that the men rowing them could now be seen, big, bulky men soaked by the heavy surf, but still making good progress. It seemed they were to come to the opposite side of the ship, from which they were standing, and upon seeing this, Mr. Harris grabbed Georgiana's hand and pulled her thither. They waited along the rail as the boats came alongside, and the seamen of the Margaret Poole, who had been attempting to lower their own boat, came over in a crush, and began making to jump into the boats.

"Belay that, all of you!" shouted a man in one of the boats, in a voice that cut through all of the chaos. "Ladies and children first! We have room enough for all."

"We have one lady only, on the ship!" Mr. Harris called out, and then said to Georgiana, "It looks as though you will have to make a jump of it."

Mr. Harris took the bundle from her, and threw it down to the men. Georgiana followed its path with her eyes, a distance easily twice her own height, and then looked at the railing, which would not be an easy climb in itself. The seamen on the ship were all staring at her with furious impatience, and steeling herself against the length of leg she was to reveal, she picked up her skirts and made her way over the railing with the assistance of Mr. Harris. Once standing on the other side, she waited only a moment before closing her eyes and jumping down, but needn't have feared, for she was caught by countless arms, and assisted into a seat.

Mr. Harris sat with her during the journey to the shore, and was kind to give her his coat, to protect her from the surf. They came up on shore in twilight, a beach before a pretty little town, of which it appeared many of the inhabitants had come out to watch the rescue. Mr. Harris demanded of one of them the finest inn that could be found nearby, was given directions there, and offered his arm to Georgiana seemingly without doubt that she would come with him.

She did, but she could not help but be concerned that he had asked for the finest inn, and spent the walk there thinking of the remaining money in her reticule, and how she would need to make it last, until the Margaret Poole's master could see her placed on another ship to Port Royal. The inn was a fine neat little place, and responded favourably to Mr. Harris's inquiry on whether rooms were available. The price named, however, was far higher than what Georgiana would have wished, and she indicated she would take her room for one night only; a less expensive place could be found more easily in the morning light.

"Please give us a moment," Mr. Harris said to the innkeeper, and he drew Georgiana aside. "Mrs. Wickham, if it is the price which causes concern, you need not let it. I should be happy to pay your board, for as long as it is needed. I would, of course, have certain expectations that my kindness be repaid in _other _ways, and indeed, if that is how we are to go about things, perhaps it would be best for us to take one room, together."

If he had not said it with the same lecherous look that Georgiana knew from Mr. Wickham, she might not have understood what he spoke of. She found herself shocked that someone who had, up until now seemed a gentleman, would make such a proposal to her, and she stood silent for a few moments before removing his coat and handing it to him.

Georgiana walked back over to the innkeeper, told him she would not be taking a room after all, and went off into the evening, alone.


	25. Part 1, Chapter 25

**Chapter 25**

Mary had taken to rising early, to see if any assistance was needed with Bess, and so it was natural that she should be given the time well before breakfast, to watch after Georgiana. She had brought a book with her, but was not reading it; instead she sat, silently, hoping for some sign of movement from her friend.

Mary was not someone who made friends easily, and if pressed to admit it, Georgiana was the only person among her acquaintances that she could truly call a friend. Jane and Elizabeth had always been kind to her, but the difference in their ages prevented true intimacy, and only in the last year or so had she grown closer to Catherine. And they were all sisters by blood, which was not quite the same as a young woman who was indeed family, but whose acquaintance Mary had wished to further, and had done so happily and with every kind reciprocation.

She could not help but look down at Georgiana's hands, which had been crossed over her belly at some point, and think on all of the times they had spent together, practising duets on the pianoforte. This brought her thoughts to the new square pianoforte in the sitting room of this apartment: she had gone up to admire it, two days previously, and to hear Georgiana's tale of having met Muzio Clementi with equal parts enthusiasm and jealousy.

Perhaps the music would rouse Georgiana as none of Dr. Alderman's treatments had, of yet, Mary thought. She gave her friend that half-hour's spoonful of broth, and then stole away to the sitting room and found that the pianoforte, on its little brass wheels, was as easy to push through to the bedroom as she had thought it would be, and situated it so that she would be able to play and still keep watch on Georgiana.

Playing was comforting to Mary, but proved not to be the panacea it had been for Bess, for Georgiana stirred not as Mary made her way through a few pieces she knew by memory. The box pianoforte had a fine sound, for such an instrument, but not the volume of the grand in the music room, and Mary sensed easily enough the opening of the door to the bedroom. She rose from the bench guiltily, and found it was Elizabeth entering, but that her sister was followed by David Stanton.

"Mr. Stanton!" Mary curtsied awkwardly, trapped between the bench and the pianoforte. "I was – I did not mean to – I thought it might be helpful to play for her."

"It was a fine idea to play for her, Mary," Elizabeth said, soothingly. "I am sure that if she can hear you, she is appreciative. Mr. Stanton wished to see her – he has only just arrived."

"Miss Bennet," he said, but then seemed at a loss for what to say beyond it.

"Mr. Stanton," Mary nodded, and pushed the bench out of the way so that she could stand properly.

"I will leave you now," Elizabeth said quietly, and slipped from the room. Mary made to leave as well, but he held up his hand to stop her.

"Please stay. Your sister told me you have all been taking shifts, and that it is your turn. I do not wish to interfere, although I will of course take a shift of my own."

Mary found another chair for him, and moved it closer to the bed, but not so near to her own that it would be inappropriate. "It is very early for you to have just arrived. Did you travel all night?"

"Much of it. Mr. Darcy's driver thought the moon sufficient, and I wished to come and make myself helpful as quickly as I could."

"It was very good of you to do so."

"She is my sister – I could hardly have stayed at home after hearing what had befallen her," he said. "And I know it is what Matthew would have wanted, given he cannot be here himself."

Mary checked her watch and found that it was again time for the broth. Mr. Stanton was not the sort of man who would watch such an endeavour without offering to lend his assistance, and Mary assigned to him the holding of Georgiana's jaw, while she spooned in the broth, carefully and slowly as Dr. Alderman had instructed. As she was doing so, her hand brushed against his, and despite the seriousness of her task, it made her face grow tremendously hot.

When she had returned the spoon to the table beside the bed, she said, mostly as a means of distraction: "Mr. Stanton, do you think you might lead us in a prayer for her?"

"Of course, Miss Bennet," said he. "But before that I might note that as you and I are family, and in such circumstances, you would be welcome to call me by my Christian name."

"Very well," she said. "If you will call me Mary, as well."

* * *

Downstairs in the saloon, the long absence of the two single people in the household, with only an unconscious chaperone, might have been better noted had an express not arrived from Longbourn. It had been addressed to Elizabeth, and she opened it with trembling hands, worried that it contained the news she had feared – that her father's illness was not so trifling as her mother had made it out to be.

This was confirmed as she read the hysterical prose, written in the wildest hand she had ever seen from her mother. Mr. Bennet's mild fever had sunk over the two days since Mrs. Bennet's last to a stubborn, putrid fever which both Mrs. Bennet and the apothecary thought might very well be the last fever he ever suffered from. All the fears, worries, and nervous symptoms which might be expected from Mrs. Bennet followed this: she was certain to be turned out of her home by Mr. Collins within a fortnight; Lydia was not sympathetic to how deeply she suffered; if only Mrs. Collins would allow her to stay, at least for a little while, she would certainly give up the mistress's bedchamber and dressing room, so long as she could stay; if the Collinses would not allow her to stay, could she come to Pemberley; and oh, poor Mr. Bennet, how deeply she would miss him!

Elizabeth finished the letter feeling full of dread, and drained of spirit, and related the worsening of Mr. Bennet's symptoms to all in the room before giving the letter over to Jane to be read. The sight of his wife in tears of worry over her father roused Darcy as little had since Georgiana's fall, and he came over to sit beside her and clasp her hand tightly. Jane finished the letter, and gave it over to Catherine, who spoke with hope and a good deal of sense when she said:

"Our mama has always been prone to exaggeration. We must remember that. I will not say that the threat is not real, or that we should not be concerned, but it may not be so bad as she makes it out to be."

This was of some comfort to them all. Jane, looking at her sister with a countenance of deep concern, said, "Lizzy, why do you not go upstairs and rest a little? I know this is a shock, particularly after all that happened yesterday, but you must think of your health. You must preserve your health, for the sake of your child."

Elizabeth nodded, knowing the rightness of what Jane said, and still feeling very tired from not having slept well. She rose to take her leave and found herself escorted out by Darcy. He was silent as they made their way upstairs, but still, she was glad of his presence, and knew that if he had not been so distracted by all that worried him, he might have attempted more by way of comfort.

She quickly came to wish they had not gone by the entrance-hall stairs, for their route now took them through the gallery. Elizabeth always avoided looking at her own picture, hanging there next to Darcy's, for there was something very strange about knowing that she was captured there for posterity. Now, however, she glanced over at Georgiana's portrait, and feared Darcy would too. Elizabeth was struck with the thought that if her sister did die, it should be given to Matthew in remembrance of the wife he had known for such a short time. Then she was horrified that she had thought it, and wished she was able to walk faster so they might quit the room more quickly.

Darcy left her when Sarah arrived at her dressing room, for Elizabeth had determined it best to change into her nightclothes and attempt a proper rest, although she was not certain she would be successful. Elizabeth found herself weeping silently as Sarah helped her change, and when her dressing gown had been slipped upon her shoulders, Sarah came around to face her and, in the least proper and most welcome thing she had ever done, leaned over and gingerly embraced her employer.

"I am so sorry, ma'am, for all that happens with your family. It is a terrible thing to have to bear at any time, but even more so in your condition."

Elizabeth sobbed, attempted to smile, and said, "You must really call me Elizabeth now, of all times."

* * *

Mary felt a great deal of embarrassment, upon Jane's entering the room, for she and David were still seated there, talking, but if Jane noted their lack of a proper chaperone, she said nothing on that subject, only, "Mary, I wonder if you might come and join us for a little while. There is some news I must share with you, and then some things we must discuss."

Mary looked over at David, who, before she could even ask it of him, said, "I will stay here with Georgiana."

With that easily settled, Mary followed Jane into the hallway, and as they walked down to the saloon, Jane shared with her the news that her father's health was much worse than Mrs. Bennet's initial letter had indicated. This was not entirely a surprise to Mary; when Jane had said there was news, it was what she had feared.

Everyone was in the saloon except for Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam, and after they were seated, Jane said, "At least one of us should return to Longbourn, to assist my mother, particularly if the worst does happen. Our aunt and uncle Phillips will be there, and hopefully the Gardiners, but it is not the same as another daughter."

"I will go," said Catherine. "Jane, Lizzy will need you here, and there is no telling whether whomever goes will be able to return before her baby is born. I would have liked to stay, for her and Georgiana, but you are right, one of us should go."

"Are you quite certain, Catherine?"

Catherine nodded firmly, and said, "Our father always said I was silly, like Lydia. I hope I shall arrive in time to prove him wrong, and help nurse him back to health."

Mary had never liked her sister more than she did now, for the truth was Mr. Bennet had called her silly, as well, lumping her in with the rest of the younger sisters, but she did not feel the same way about proving him wrong as Catherine did. Someone certainly did need to go, for Lydia would be useless in such a situation, and if Catherine had not volunteered, Mary certainly would have been the other logical choice of the sisters. Mary did not wish to leave – not for a man who had never bothered to know her well enough to understand she was not like Kitty and Lydia. Well, not like Lydia, now – her younger sisters could no longer be classed together. Nor did she have much desire to leave to support the mother who had never paid her any attention, because she was not interested in the sort of fripperies Mrs. Bennet cared about.

Mary hated the circumstances that had caused it, but she could not help but feel that her future was in this house, right now, and she would have been loathe to leave it on such a purpose. Such thoughts made her feel callous, and she vowed that she would make up for it by even more frequent prayers, both for her father and Georgiana.

"I will have to attend you there," Charles said. "We cannot have you travelling alone all that way. I hate to leave here with things as they are, but I do not see another way around it."

"There is certainly another way around it," said Catherine, with just the slightest glance over at Captain Ramsey, who gave her a little nod. "If I was a married woman, I could make the journey with my husband."

"Catherine, it is a fine thought, but the banns have not been read," said Charles.

"Nor will they be," said Catherine. "When Mr. Darcy spoke with Mr. Clark about reading the banns, Mr. Clark told him we would need a common licence, instead, because neither of us is a resident of this parish. Captain Ramsey has already seen to the common licence – we may marry whenever we choose."

"Still, are you certain you wish to take such a step?" asked Jane. "It is rather quick to make such a decision, and it will not be as large an event as we all would have hoped for you."

"I have been waiting to be married for _months_. I do not mind at all, to do so sooner than expected."

"If you have a common licence, I believe you may be married in the chapel here," said Mary.

"We will have to hurry to fetch Mr. Clark, then," said Jane, checking her watch. "It is near eleven already, and if you are to travel today, you must be married before noon."

"You do not need to fetch him, either," Mary said. "You are forgetting that Mr. Stanton arrived here this morning. I am sure he would perform the ceremony, given the purpose."

Jane still looked doubtful, and seemed as though she was going to ask her sister again if she was quite certain she wished to marry now, but Catherine fixed her with such a strong look that Jane stayed silent, and then Catherine motioned to the bell pull beside her sister, "Well, ring the bell, Jane – there is so much to be done!"

* * *

Never before had Pemberley's staff been challenged in such a way, to have perhaps half an hour in which to prepare a wedding, but Mrs. Reynolds, upon being told what was needed, put them to work at a most rapid pace. Maids were sent to the chapel to dust, a gardener to the hot house for whatever flowers could be made into a bouquet. Cook was informed that some manner of wedding breakfast must be on the table shortly after noon, and Sarah put in charge of some of the other maids, to see Mrs. Darcy woken and dressed, and Catherine made to look as much like a bride as could be done in such a short time.

Of the two ladies who last came down the hall to Pemberley's chapel, Elizabeth looked by far to be the more stunned of them, having been awakened from a deep sleep for a most unexpected event. Upon seeing Catherine approaching, Elizabeth checked her watch to ensure there was time, and then waited to speak to Catherine before they went in.

"Catherine, are you entirely sure about this?" Elizabeth asked. "I know you wished for a large wedding, and you must go forth now without even our parents here."

"I have already waited so long, Lizzy. I would have waited longer if circumstances were different, but it is better both for my own future and for our family if I do so now."

There was a great deal of sense in what Catherine said: it could not be denied that she and Captain Ramsey were the best choices to go to Longbourn, for Elizabeth did not wish Jane to be parted from her so near her birth, and if the worst did happen to Georgiana, she would much rather Charles be there beside her husband as they bore her out on her final journey, a journey Elizabeth and her sisters could not attend. Catherine was also right that it was best for her own future, to ensure she was securely married before the possible death of her father.

"That is all I could ask, for you," Elizabeth said.

"You might – if all turns out as we would hope, for papa and for Georgiana – you might hold a large ball in celebration, later, after your baby is born?"

Elizabeth laughed softly, and said, "Kitty, if all turns out as we hope, we shall have the largest ball Pemberley can ever muster in your honour."

They went inside, where David Stanton had been querying Mr. Darcy and the groom on the matters he wished to confirm before he would agree fully to the ceremony. He was assured that Pemberley's chapel had indeed been consecrated, that Mr. Bennet had consented to the wedding, and that the marriage contracts had already been seen to. When he had been satisfied on all of these points, he went up to the little altar at the front of the room, and found his place in the prayerbook.

The chapel was rather full; all the staff had been invited to attend, and they comprised equal mixtures of those who had had some contact with the bride and groom and liked them, those who wished to do right by the house, and those who could not resist the curiosity of such a rapid wedding. Sarah and Hughes were the most notable absences; Hughes was still sleeping after staying up much of the night with her mistress, and Sarah had volunteered to sit with Georgiana during the ceremony and wedding breakfast.

As weddings went, it was a more sombre affair than any of their family might have imagined for such a jovial bride and groom. Catherine's hair had been done simply, and she was wearing only her best ballgown, but there was a becoming blush on her face, and if she did not look wholly happy, she did still look satisfied to be going to the altar holding Charles Bingley's arm. As for Captain Ramsey, he stood there waiting for her wearing his naval uniform, which was perhaps the one requirement for her wedding that Catherine would not have been willing to compromise on. For Mary, it offered the strange opportunity to watch the gentleman she harboured thoughts of marrying perform a marriage ceremony, and she feared she was blushing even more than Catherine, to be listening to him.

* * *

Captain Ramsey was used to being ordered to sea on short notice, and following what could only barely be called a wedding breakfast, had his trunk packed far more quickly than his new bride. He came down to sit with them in the saloon, and there learned that Dr. Alderman had arrived and was examining Georgiana.

The doctor came down before Catherine did, and sat amongst them, with a most serious expression on his face, saying: "I am afraid there has been no improvement. We still have another day or so to hope that she shall wake naturally, but I have done some reading on what must be done if it is a fracture of the skull, and I believe she will need to be trephined."

"Dear God!" exclaimed Captain Ramsey, quite startling them all.

"You are familiar with the operation?" Dr. Alderman asked.

"I have seen it done. We see far more fractures of the skull in the navy than you would in a county such as this."

"You are more familiar with it than I, then. There are some surgical operations I will attempt myself, but not this one, and I do not know of a surgeon in the county who would have done it. I believe we shall need someone from Manchester."

"Pardon me," Elizabeth said, "but what is this operation?"

With a countenance marked with the deepest reluctance, Dr. Alderman said, "The skin of the skull is cut back, and any visible fragments of bone removed. Then a hole is bored into the skull itself, and the bone removed, and the causes for damage to the brain removed as well as they can be."

At this point, the physician, recognising that everyone in the saloon – Captain Ramsey included – looked rather ill, stopped his account.

"Is there not still a chance she will wake on her own?" asked Jane.

"There is, Mrs. Bingley, but if she does not, and I do not seek out a surgeon qualified in the operation soon, I fear it shall be too late. I believe I must go to Manchester."

"If you go, it should be in our carriage, and we shall bear the expense," said Darcy, in something resembling his usual authority. "But is there no other way? Might a servant be sent?"

"I wish to examine the credentials of any possible candidates myself."

"It is a shame Portsmouth is not nearer," said Captain Ramsey. "You could find half a dozen men who had done the operation within an hour, my old surgeon included."

"It is a shame, indeed, but if you are offering your carriage, I will accept it most gratefully, and attempt to return as soon as I may with a qualified surgeon."

Catherine came down to the saloon not long after this conversation, to be informed of what Dr. Alderman had said, and to find fresh tears at the plight of the friend she must leave, to carry out her duty to her father. Two carriages now were ordered around, and Dr. Alderman slipped quietly into his, to carry out his most grotesque duty, but Catherine and Captain Ramsey had longer good-byes to say.

"Do not go any farther than the Gray Hare tonight," said Elizabeth, to her sister. "I should hate to think of you sheltering at that miserable Fox and Hens on your wedding night. Oh my, your wedding night – has anyone even told you of –"

"Jane spoke to me of it, while I was packing," Catherine said. "But in truth Lydia had given me the details long ago, and I must admit I have been all anticipation for it for quite some time. I know how well Andrew loves me, and the delay in our beginning married life has been so difficult."

"I cannot say this was for the best, then, but I do hope you shall have some manner of happiness, on your journey."

"I wish it was you going, Lizzy," said Catherine. "I know it is impossible, but you are his favourite, and I know he would wish to see you again before the end, if the worst does happen."

Few things could have broken Elizabeth so thoroughly as what Catherine said, and Elizabeth felt fully the maturity of her newly married sister, who would embrace her calmly as she sobbed at the thought of losing her father, without even a chance to see him. Eventually, Elizabeth sniffled, and handed Catherine the letter she had been holding, saying, "Will you see that he reads this, if it is not too late?"

"I will," Catherine said. "But even if it is too late, you cannot doubt that he loves you, and is well aware that you love him."

Elizabeth nodded tearfully, but did not trust herself to speak.

"Good-bye, Lizzy. _When_ Georgiana wakes, please tell her I am sorry I was not here for it," Catherine said, and then walked over to her new husband, who assisted her into the carriage.

* * *

AN: One requirement of a common licence that David Stanton did not go into was time spent in the parish by one of the couple, which did need to be of some duration. I am assuming that the time Catherine spent at Pemberley during the summer, as well as more recently, fulfilled this requirement.


	26. Part 1, Chapter 26

**Chapter 26**

Georgiana had succeeded in finding an inn which fit her limited means. It was shabby, to be certain, but it was clean, and it allowed her to retain far more of her funds than the one selected by Mr. Harris would have. Her initial effort, upon her first morning in Bermuda, had been to seek out the master of the Margaret Poole, and ask of him when she should be given a refund of the fare for her passage, or placed aboard another ship bound for Jamaica.

His response, from the beach where he watched the remains of his thoroughly broken ship battered by the waves, had been that neither action would be forthcoming to her, until the owner of his ship could be contacted as to the loss, and the insurance company could then produce the compensation. For some time, Georgiana had railed at him that this was not acceptable, that she had paid for passage to Port Royal, and if she was not to be provided with such, then at the very least she should be given back what she had paid so that she could book passage anew. He was unmoved, however, even when she broke down in tears, and when he finally said he would listen to no more and strode off, leaving her crying there on the beach, she had determined she must try other means of getting herself to Jamaica.

The easiest thing would be to turn the hundred pound note from Drummond's into ready money, and she spent the remainder of her day visiting every office in Bermuda which those she asked on the streets told her might be able to process her note. None would take it; none would believe her storeys, or her papers, and Georgiana had returned to her shabby little room to eat bread and ale, determined that she must find a way to make more progress the next day.

On this morning, she decided she would take all that remained of her ready money down to the docks, and inquire after passage. She did not think what she had would be enough, but she was hopeful that she might convince some master or owner that she would put some money down now, and the remainder plus a bonus would be paid by her brother, upon her arrival in Jamaica.

The streets were still unfamiliar to Georgiana, in St. George, and she found herself venturing there not entirely sure she was going the right way. It was quite early, and the streets lacked the presence of other people who might give her a sense of whether she was heading toward a place of greater activity. Still, she did not expect the next event, which was that a young boy, darting out from a passage, ran straight into Georgiana, knocking her down as he snatched her reticule and ran away.

Georgiana, entirely stunned by the event, sat up in the street and realised the boy's footsteps could hardly even be heard now, so far he had run. He was gone, and with him, her reticule and the last ready money to her name. This thought was so overwhelming to her that she sat in shock for some time before descending into weeping. She was thus when someone spoke to her, from over her shoulder:

"I am sorry, madam. I was not able to catch him. I hope the loss was not great, although I fear by your reaction it must have been."

Georgiana looked up over her shoulder to see a rather tall man standing over her, heavily winded from running. She wiped at her eyes, and found him kneeling beside her, and giving over his handkerchief. Raising her hand to take it up, she began to realise that there was a dull ache in her wrist that was growing worse; when the boy had grabbed her reticule, its ribbons had caught around her wrist before he had finally managed to pull it off, and then she had landed on it as she fell. Thus weakened, it had bent most painfully under her weight.

Grimacing in pain, she withdrew her hand. Now that Georgiana had her wits a little more about her, she observed the man was wearing a naval uniform, and he asked, "Are you hurt?"

"It is only my wrist," Georgiana said, explaining how it had come to be injured.

"Are you able to bend it?" he asked, making a few motions with his hand about his neck, before she realised he was removing his cravat.

"It hurts, but yes, I am," Georgiana said.

"It is most likely not broken, then, but you should have it looked over by a surgeon," he said, tying the two ends of the cravat's fabric together in a neat little knot, and then indicating that he would slip the loop of fabric over her head.

It was a strangely intimate gesture, particularly for someone she was not acquainted with, but Georgiana allowed him to do so, and to help place her arm within the sling, but then whispered, "You are very kind, but I cannot afford a surgeon."

"You need not worry about that. My surgeon, Clerkwell, will look at it as a favour to me," he said. "But I beg your pardon, for you have no notion of who I am, and I suppose I must beg leave to introduce myself to you, for I see little else in the way of choices for introduction."

Georgiana nodded, and found herself a little soothed, both by his solicitousness and such gentlemanly manners.

"I am Matthew Stanton, captain of HMS Caroline."

"And I am Georgiana Wickham, of – of Derbyshire."

"You were the lady, were you not, on the Margaret Poole?"

"I was," Georgiana said, looking at him more closely. "It was you, who called out that the women and children should go first, into the boats."

"It was," he said. "Such a lubberly display I have rarely seen, by the men on that ship. But you – you gave a most plucked jump."

Georgiana felt reasonably sure this was a compliment, and yet was unsure of how to take it. He saved her any possible embarrassment by standing, and offering his hand to help her rise.

"Come," he said, now offering his arm. "The Caroline is moored at one of the quays in town, and only a short walk from here. Is your father at your inn, still? We may stop there, first, if you would wish to have him with you while the examination is done."

"I cannot go with you – I am sorry," Georgiana said, thinking of Mr. Harris, whom Captain Stanton must have assumed to be her father. "I do not wish to take on an obligation I cannot repay."

"There is no obligation," said he. "If there is any obligation, it is on my end, for not catching the thief. If I had done so, you would have funds enough for a surgeon of your choice."

"You cannot feel yourself obligated to someone so unconnected to you, merely for failing to stop her from being robbed."

"I can, and I do."

"It is very good of you, but I am afraid I cannot give rise to expectations that I would repay this debt in _other ways_," Georgiana said, although even as she said it, she began to realise that with no money remaining, she might soon have to find some sort of means of earning her passage, a thought that filled her with cold dread. There was still the hundred-pound note, tucked away under her stays, and she regarded it with increasing desperation.

"Dear God!" he exclaimed. "Who have you encountered in this world, to make you think of such things at your age, Miss Wickham?"

"_Mrs._ Wickham," said Georgiana, and there must have been something in her voice which silenced him, but he continued to offer his arm, and finally she took it up and let him walk her toward his ship, for if nothing else, the vehemence of his tone had convinced her that he was, at the least, not another Mr. Harris.

After this first conversation, she found his manners to be rather reserved; they hardly spoke as they walked, and in the strangeness of the situation Georgiana could not think of topics for conversation. They reached the ship, a fine, trim-looking ship that would have been the largest Georgiana had ever seen if there were not even larger ships in sight beyond it. The Caroline was tied up against the quay, and so Georgiana stepped down onto the deck easily. As they came aboard, Captain Stanton called out to someone to pass the word for Mr. Clerkwell, who was to meet the captain in his cabin.

Captain Stanton led Georgiana to a large cabin at the stern of the ship, invited her to sit, and stepped out for a moment to speak to someone outside. The person he spoke to could not have been Mr. Clerkwell, for that man entered from the other side of the cabin, a grey, grizzled man, who immediately upon entering, said:

"An' what do ye have need for, that I mus' halt me inventory an' come all this way up to th' cabin?"

"Mr. Clerkwell, this is Mrs. Wickham. She was knocked down by a thief this morning in sight of me, and has hurt her wrist. I informed her you would take a look at her wrist as a favour to me."

"A favour to ye! An' what next, as a favour to ye? Am I to look at every man, woman, an' chile on this isle as a favour to ye?"

"I am asking you to do an act of Christian generosity for one young lady, which you know very well I shall reward you for anyway, and which you might have been done with already if you did not tarry by arguing."

With some inaudible grumbling, Mr. Clerkwell made his way over to Georgiana, asked her how badly her wrist hurt, bent it this way and that, asking her again as he did it how badly it hurt, and then said, "'Tisn't broke. Ye best keep it still for a little while. I'll send me mate up, to wrap it up tight, and ye may have some laudanum for the pain, if ye wish it."

"No, thank you, I do not believe I need it," Georgiana said, for while the pain was bad enough that she would willingly have taken laudanum in the safe confines of her own home, she would not do so in unfamiliar surroundings. At least now she had found someone who had been kind to her, but she still felt the need to keep her wits about her.

Mr. Clerkwell left, and Captain Stanton apologised for his behaviour, saying, "You might ask why I put up with him, as captain, but the truth is he is a capital surgeon, when he does finally get down to work. The Caroline sees enough action that the hands must know they have someone to care for them who will see them cut into, sewed up properly, and healed, if ever it can be done."

Georgiana nodded her understanding, and would have spoken, but a large, burly seaman came in then with a tray of food and lemonade that thoroughly distracted her. Georgiana had eaten well during her few meals at Curzon Street, and then not again since; the trays she had been given on the Margaret Poole had been barely edible, and made her thankful that Cook had made Hughes pack away anything that could be preserved, to supplement her diet on board the merchant ship. Here, however, were fresh fruits and cakes in abundance, and if left alone, Georgiana was fairly certain she would have eaten it all. Instead, she thanked Captain Stanton for his hospitality and made a few delicate selections.

"Now," said he, after allowing her some time to eat, "I do not wish to be crass, but I am concerned as to whether the loss of your purse allows you and your husband funds enough to live, given you came to be here in a shipwreck."

Georgiana felt tears spring to her eyes, and a flush of shame. She swallowed hard, and spoke, "My husband is not here with me, and that was the last of my ready funds. I have a hundred-pound note from Drummond's, still, but that is all."

"That should be no difficulty, then. There are several establishments here which will take your note."

"But they will not! I have tried every one I could find, and none will take it."

"Surely Landris did not refuse your note, but then you may not have known of him."

"Yes, I did try Mr. Landris, and he would not take it, the same as all the rest," she said, her voice wavering.

"Did he? Well, then he shall have something to hear about from me. Landris is my prize-agent, and when your wrist has been wrapped, we shall go down and speak with him."


End file.
